


A Breach in Protocol

by ariadne83, somehowunbroken



Series: HBB 2019 [6]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF, Women's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-12-31 21:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21152372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne83/pseuds/ariadne83, https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: Nate always knew he should expect the kaiju to come back one day. He just didn't know to expect what he'd lose when they did.[A Pacific Rim AU.]





	A Breach in Protocol

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the pacific rim AU that we've been working on since before the WCOH! we're thrilled to finally be able to share it. :)
> 
> thanks to aimee for beta reading this!
> 
> **additional warnings:** there is some temporary and some permanent character death in this; it's a pacific rim AU, so the kaiju are A Problem. check the end notes for specific spoilers about people relevant to this story.
> 
> [listen to the playlist here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0eAggpDv7LL55HmjlcjETt)

It doesn't start slowly. That's the thing that Nate remembers thinking later on: he'd always sort of thought it would start small, that it would build into something more dangerous, but they don't get that luxury. One day he's training with Sid over the summer, as normal as things get since the kaiju hit Cole Harbour ten years ago; the next, Russia is in ashes and Sid looks like he's falling apart.

The news stations cover the attack 24/7; nothing about that is surprising. Nate's a little shocked by how blasé they sound, how completely convinced they are that Russia's Jaeger program will be able to mobilize and neutralize, but then again, the news stations haven't had Sidney Crosby warning them about being woefully underprepared for a decade.

It's no use telling Sid to turn it off; it's no use telling Sid much of anything where kaiju are involved. Nate doesn't trust the way Sid grips the arm of the couch, his knuckles white and his jaw rigid, so he hasn't left him alone since the news broke.

When he can't take watching the footage anymore, Nate slips outside to text Jo. _Everything's a mess, Sid's a mess,_ Nate types out. It's barely a minute before Jo replies.

_I thought they were prepared for this._

And that's the kicker, really. Russia had foregone the idea of the arctic wall; there's a barrier that stretches from Alaska to the eastern edge of Canada, and it picks up in Europe. It cuts off right at the international border, because Russia chose to focus on functional Jaegers instead of investing in the wall.

They're living the results of their gamble. For Sid's sake Nate hopes the price isn't too high, but with so many Jaeger teams scattered for the summer...

_How do you really prepare for something like this?_ Nate sends back.

_Do you think,_ Jo sends, but it hangs there for a minute, unfinished. _Did they try to come here first? Was the wall too much?_

Nate has no idea what to say to that. His thumb hovers over his phone for a long time, and then Jo sends another message.

_Fuck this, I'm coming over._

Nate lets out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. This thing between him and Jo is new and fragile, but he's unspeakably grateful for it.

They keep things quiet in front of Sid, who curls in on himself like a wounded animal whenever he gets off the phone with Geno, but Nate can feel it building towards... something.

"They're not winning," Sid says hoarsely, probably an hour after he hangs up. He hasn't said much since the news broke, but then, he hasn't really had to. "They're--Geno says that... that a lot of the guys aren't coming back."

Nate closes his eyes against the look on Sid's face. He hears Jo suck in a small breath and reaches for his hand without looking. Jo won't ask, not when Sid's so obviously upset, but Nate knows he has to be thinking about the people he's played with, about Scherbak and Kucherov and Namestnikov. They all know what _not coming back_ means.

Sid retreats back into the house, his feet stumbling over what should be familiar ground. Nate just tightens his grip on Jo's hand, taking solace in the way their fingers curl together.

"It's going to be bad," Jo says.

Nate sighs. "Sid's been telling us that for years. Whatever this is, it's only the beginning."

-0-

Nate isn't surprised to find the gym half-full when he and Jo get there. Their summer training program is intense enough that a lot of guys go elsewhere, but the people who do sign up are completely committed to it.

The US media think it's a grand joke, the Great One Sidney Crosby setting himself up as a general in the Canadian wilderness. They think it's funny to take bets on when he'll lead his Jaegers in an invasion of their neighbours to the south. Nate would ask himself if they're laughing now, but he's seen the news. They still are. They think Russia is the greatest joke of all, trusting in their Jaeger program.

The problem is that, from all appearances, they seem to be correct. The devastation in Russia is more than Nate can comprehend, and none of the guards posted along the wall have reported so much as a weird ripple at sea. It looks like Russia was wrong, but Nate believes Sid. The walls won't be enough, not when the attack really starts. He just hopes that they've trained well enough to make a difference.

Because the thing is, Sid has seen a Jaeger fall. He's seen the world so caught up in fighting for their lives that they forgot to even salvage it, or bury the pilots. And Sid and Nate have both seen Cole Harbour struggle to clean up in the aftermath of kaiju blue. They both learned the hard way that kaiju are like earthquakes: you can only be ready for the forces that have already hit you.

The world thinks their gigantic wall has solved the kaiju problem. Sid has never thought it would, and Nate's always figured Sid knew what he was talking about. Now that it's started, now that Russia's in flames and underwater and half-destroyed, Nate knows without a doubt that Sid was right. Maybe the lack of a wall is why Russia was attacked first, but the wall's not going to stop that kind of destruction. Maybe Sid's paranoid, and Nate and the others are following him down the rabbit hole. Better scared than dead.

Nate doesn't like to think of their training camp as having cliques, but it's hard to ignore the way the people in the gym gather. The Quebecois contingent gravitate towards each other, and when they start chirping each other in French it's only natural for the guys who can't understand what the hell they're saying to turn in the other direction. Nobody wants to nod along and accidentally confess to being a chronic masturbator. Jo still snickers at him every time Nate has to talk to Girard.

It's sort of weird to delineate the rest of the group as "old guys" and "young guys," but that's pretty much how it is. Nate and Jo head towards where Dylan is waving them over, and Nate's not surprised to see he's got one hand tucked into Mitch's back pocket and the other arm around Connor's shoulders. When Nate gets close, Dylan points a finger-gun at him. "Hands up, young gun."

Mitch grins. "You're going down, you're yelling timber," he says, and snorts when Dylan groans.

Connor, for his part, rolls his eyes. "Mitch isn't allowed near the aux cord, and we're not talking about it."

Nate bites back a smile and nods. "Good. The less said about Team Young Guns the better."

"But they kicked ass," Mitch stage-whispers to Dylan. "Why wouldn't we talk about Nate kicking ass?"

Dylan elbows him. "Because some of us are still eligible to be called up if Bettman decides to run that mess again."

Mitch makes a face. "Ew. No."

"You've jinxed us now," Connor adds.

"Wait, no," Mitch protests. "Hail Wayne Gretzky, full of hockey--"

"--the Cup is with you," Dylan and Connor chorus.

Jo snorts quietly into Nate's ear. "I don't know why I'm always surprised that Connor's not more…"

"He is," Nate affirms. "Isn't that scary?"

Mitch makes a cut-off yelping noise. Nate's pretty sure he just had his ass squeezed, but he's not inclined to check.

"Anyway," Connor says, the smile sliding off his face as he turns to Nate. "I'm not sure what to believe when it comes to the news. Everyone's reporting that it's bad, but that's all they agree on. Do we know anything for sure?"

"Sweden's joining the party," Jo says. "Apparently they decided letting Russia fall wasn't such a good idea."

"Smart," Dylan says sarcastically.

Mitch narrows his eyes a little. "Is it going to help, or is it just more lambs to the slaughter?"

Nate sighs. "I think the best they can hope for is to _contain_ the slaughter."

"That's not a long-term solution," Connor points out. "That sounds a lot like the entire continent is just going to go up in flames."

"Well, if the Russians had done their part and spent all their money on the wall," Jo says, in his best impression of a Fox News anchor, "the kaiju would still be looking for another weak spot."

"Are we," Dylan says slowly. "We're not, like. Giving up on the entire hemisphere, right?"

"No fucking way," Nate says, in tandem with Jo starting to curse in French.

"Good," Dylan replies. "Then what _are_ we doing?"

Mitch pokes him in the side. "We're all here, aren't we?"

"We're waiting," Connor translates, looking at Nate. "We're going to keep training, and we're going to, what, see if we can finally convince Bettman to let us actually use the League like we need to?"

"Fat fucking chance," Dylan mutters.

"We wait to see if the UN is offering support," Jo replies. "If Bettman can see an opening to get compensation for sending in the League, we have to be ready to go."

"But until then we wait," Nate adds. "I don't like it, believe me, but we can't do anything without starting an international incident."

"Exactly," Sid says, sneaking up on them.

Nate startles, and the terrible trio smirk at him.

"Too much coffee, old man?" Dylan says innocently.

"Remind me why we don't just hang out with Schenner and Biz," Nate says to Jo.

"Because Schenner slashed Landeskog so hard they had to replace half the wiring in his suit's left arm," Jo supplies. "And Biz thought it was hilarious."

"Right," Nate mutters. He's not likely to forget it, honestly; he'd been the one on mic that night, so he'd had to listen to Gabe entertain himself by singing loudly and terribly for two hours while the techs worked to free him and Mikko from the suit.

"Ready to get to work, boys?" Sid asks.

He gets a collection of eyerolls in return; none of them are rookies anymore, but try telling that to any of the guys who've been around since before Bettman stopped letting them go to the Olympics.

"Let's get ready to rumble," Mitch intones, and somehow that's what gets them going.

-0-

To say that Sid takes the news that Bettman isn't letting the League get involved in Russia badly is really, really underselling it. He goes scarily quiet, and Nate gets a sick feeling in his stomach. He's trying to figure out if there's a tactful way to ask Sid what he's thinking or if he should just stick his foot in his mouth when Sid finally cracks.

"I'm going," Sid says flatly. "I won't ask any of you to come with me, but I can't just sit here."

Nate doesn't say anything. The reports out of Russia have only been getting worse in the weeks since the first attack; it's not that Nate doubts Sid's talent, but there's only so much one person can do, even if he's going to join the other half of one of the best drift pairs in history.

"Say hi to Geno," Nate chokes out, because he can't bear to say goodbye to Sid.

Sid gives him a brief, tight smile. "Zadorov and Kamenev are still out there," he says. "I'll see what I can do for your guys, okay? Take care of things here."

Nate just nods and lets him go get ready.

There's not a lot to do once Sid leaves other than continue training and try not to obsess over the news from Russia, so that's what Nate does. The news is better at first; Sid and Geno really are just that good, but even Nate can see that it's only going to be temporary. He's still not ready to write off the entire hemisphere, but he's not sure how much of Russia is even left to salvage at this point. Reports keep coming in about the spread of kaiju blue, and Nate knows what they're not saying: that it means kaiju are getting further and further in before they get taken down. It's a sick kind of waiting game, because Nate knows that this isn't going to end with Sid and Geno leading a triumphant band of Jaeger pilots back home. They've bought time for refugees to get the hell out of the area, but that's it, that's all.

Nate wakes up a week before his training camp with the Avs is supposed to start with a sick feeling in his stomach. It's early, too early to be up, but there's no ignoring the quiet dread in the back of his mind, so he rolls over as quietly as he can and grabs his phone. He stares at the dozens of notifications, too numb to find out what went wrong.

_League Jaeger partners Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin downed in heroic rescue effort,_ the top one screams at him, and that's--that's enough. He doesn't need details, not now. He will later, probably, but now he just needs to keep his breathing deep and even so he doesn't lose his mind. He knew it was coming, and he thought he was braced for it. He was so, so wrong.

Nate isn't sure how long he lays there for before Jo wakes up. "Nate?" he asks softly, and then he inhales. "Sid."

Nate just rolls over and buries his face in Jo's shoulder.

For a while, it's a blur of Jo murmuring soft French as Nate lets himself cry. He doesn't try to make himself stop; there's nobody here he needs to impress, and anyway, he just lost one of his best friends. He's allowed to cry.

Eventually one of the dogs comes in, whining over Nate's distress. "It's okay, it's okay," Nate says, rolling over so he can stick a hand out for pets. He's still crying, but it's the quiet kind now, where mostly he's just leaking tears and occasionally tripping over his own breathing. 

He gets a cold, wet nose in the palm of his hand as warning before Duke jumps up on the bed and licks his face. This is normally where he'd push the dog off the bed, but instead Nate just wraps his arms around Duke and pulls him down. He's heavy, but it's a good, huggable kind of weight. Jo presses close behind him, and Nate's surrounded. Safe.

"I need to call..." Nate says eventually, but he's not sure how to end the sentence. There was a protocol in place for this, people Nate was supposed to get in touch with if something happened to Sid, things that need to be done now. He can't remember a word of it at the moment.

"I can make the calls," Jo offers, "but we should have breakfast first."

Nate nods, but he doesn't make a move to get out of bed. "Right," he says. "Breakfast."

Duke whuffs and jumps down from the bed, clearly sure that the b-word was for him.

There's no point in trying to delay the inevitable any longer, Nate thinks, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a long, slow breath. Duke thinks food is coming, which means Henry will hop on the breakfast train soon, too. And besides, Nate thinks as he opens his eyes back up and finally pushes himself up. Sid wouldn't want him to just lay around.

"Let me help," Jo says softly.

"Yeah," Nate says, grabbing blindly for Jo's hand and squeezing probably a little too hard when he finds it. "Please."

Henry comes racing in, carrying his bowl in his mouth.

"Yeah," Nate repeats as Henry drops the bowl on the floor at Nate's feet. "Okay."

-0-

There are a lot of long, awful phone calls over the next week. Jo helps, like he promised, but there are some Nate just has to make himself.

"This is the start of everything Sid was afraid of," Taylor says, three days later. They've called each other multiple times a day since it happened, and Nate doesn't know how to thank her for her support while knowing that he must be offering some of his own, in some way. "So what happens now?"

Nate hesitates, but not for long. Sid hadn't wanted to drag Taylor into this, knowing that a lot of them weren't going to make it to the end. That's not his call to make anymore, though. "I'm guessing Sid didn't tell you much about what we have planned," Nate says, "but we'd be happy to have you."

"Yeah, he didn't tell me shit," Taylor says, snorting a little. "I figured his summer training camp thing was war preparations all on my own. I'm in."

"We're setting up a home base in Denver if you want to, like, activate your women's league phone tree," Nate replies.

She sighs a little. "I mean, I know a bunch of people who will want to be as big a part of it as they can," she says. "But on the women's players' salaries, we might not get a bunch. Maybe we can set up, like, auxiliary branches or something."

"As many as we can possibly get," Nate agrees. His sister Sarah's voice pipes up in the back of his head, yelling at him for not thinking of it earlier. "And, like. If anybody wants to be in Denver and can't make it work money-wise, let me know. We'll get everybody there."

"I'll put the word out," Taylor promises.

It's harder talking to some of the other people. He knows Connor, so that one isn't bad, but having to talk to Jonathan Toews about coordinating and running possible attack drills without the League noticing had been more stress than Nate ever wants to undergo again. It's really unfortunate, actually, because apparently with Sid gone, everyone expects Nate to just step up and fill his shoes. There's no more time to mourn, no more time to be scared shitless about how badly things are going a continent away. He talks to guys he's never had reason to contact before, Luongo in Sunrise and Stastny in Vegas and Wheeler in Winnipeg, and he does his best to get ready to be a leader in a war he never planned to do more than fight in.

Time ticks down relentlessly, marching them all towards League training camps none of them see much point in anymore. It's not like Nate had actually expected Bettman to let them do anything, but he'd definitely been pissed when the League's official response to Sid's death had been to double down on their non-involvement policy. Bettman hadn't gone out and said that Sid went and got himself killed, but it was pretty heavily implied. His statement had been full of legalese and reminders that the players are all under contract. That they have obligations to fulfill.

Nate's pretty sure he's never hated someone so much in his life, but he does what they'd all agreed on: he reports to the team just like he's supposed to.

Gabe isn't there yet, and Nate's stomach ties itself in knots; at least he knows Jo is relatively safe in Montreal. Gabe shows up a day late with his entire family, which explains a lot, and Mikko's entire family, which makes Mikko start crying in baggage claim. He's smiling as he hugs Nate, but there's something awful about the expression he can't quite hide on his face, too.

Gabe's twin sister doesn't really look much like him, but she has an identical expression of determination. "I'm going to help," Bea says, sounding like she's expecting a fight. "In whatever way I can."

"She's very good at telling people what to do," Gabe says. "Super good. She's had years of practice."

Nate smiles tightly. "I know better than to argue with sisters."

Bea's expression softens a little. "Your family is safe, right? I'm so sorry about Sidney."

"Mom and Dad are at my place with the dogs, and Sarah's safe," Nate says, deking around the Sid conversation. He's had practice, lately, at pushing those feelings away and packing them into a box marked "deal with later."

"I'm glad to hear that," Bea replies. "I'd love to meet them. I love dogs." She smiles, a little mischievous. "And parents, usually."

Nate raises an eyebrow. "Unless they're yours?"

"Gabbe promised to help me find an apartment of my own soon," Bea replies. "It'll be good for everyone."

"You're welcome to come visit my dogs if Gabe's head starts taking up too much space," Nate jokes.

"Wonderful," Bea says, smiling. "I'll be over tonight."

Gabe rolls his eyes behind her back, and Nate heads over to hug him again. He's so fucking relieved to see him that he squeezes Gabe maybe just a little too tight. Gabe hugs back just as tightly, though, so Nate figures he's probably pretty relieved to be here, too.

Nate's about to pull back when he's tackled by Mikko, who smushes him even closer to Gabe. "First line, together forever," he bellows. "_Rumble Mountain_ and the best tech support in the League!"

Nate squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself get carried away in the moment. Who knows when things are ever going to be this simple again?

-0-

Training camp goes by in a blur of tightly-lidded emotions and deep breathing exercises, and before Nate knows it, preseason has started. It feels ridiculous to even try to pretend that nothing's changed, that Ovechkin and Backstrom haven't most likely met the same fate as Sid. The Hockey Hall of Fame will be filled with ghosts in no time.

He's in the press box only half-watching a preseason game that he's not playing in when his phone buzzes with a text from Connor. _Hey. I have someone who wants to help. Can I share your #?_

_Of course_, Nate sends back. It's an unwelcome reminder that a lot of people defer to him, but he swallows back the bitterness. Connor is polite to a fault; he doesn't mean anything bad by it.

_Cool thx,_ comes the reply a moment later.

Nate is still rolling his eyes at it a little bit later when a text comes through from an unknown number. _Hi it's Andrew Ference_, the message reads. _Heard you're taking volunteers to beat kaiju ass._

Nate blinks a little. _Always looking for that kind of volunteer,_ he types out. _What kind of thing do you want to volunteer for?_

It's not like Nate's going to be super picky at this point, but Ference has been out of the game for a few years now. Thinking about putting him in a suit feels like it would be sending him to his doom. It was hard enough letting Sid go voluntarily; Nate doesn't think he has what it takes to be the one sending people off to war.

_Davo mentioned that you might be looking for people to help with leading this whole thing,_ is the reply. _I don't want to step on your toes though. I know you've been directing everything for the past month._

Nate swallows hard. _Not by choice._ He hesitates for a while, but there's a sense of relief when he hits send. Nobody else needs to hear Nate whining right now, but Ference should know what he's volunteering himself for.

The typing bubbles appear, and they do the little "I'm typing" animation for a while. Nate tries not to watch his phone like a hawk, but he fails pretty miserably. Finally, though, a message pops up. _I'm more than happy to help you out with whatever needs doing, Nate. If you don't want to be in charge of this anymore, we can figure out how to transition parts of it over to me. We can do a co-leading thing, or you can step back entirely if you want. Up to you._

Before Nate's even finished reading, another message pops up. _And you can take some time to think about it. No need to reply right now._

Nate feels like crying. He doesn't want to let Sid down. But Ference had said he could take some time to think about it, so he can measure that against how badly he doesn't want to be in charge of this whole thing. He can talk to Jo and Gabe and Tyson about it, and he can give Ference an answer in a few days. _I'll let you know,_ he replies, and then he puts his phone back into his pocket. He turns his attention to the jumbotron, idly scanning the day's scores in an attempt to avoid thinking.

He's drawn into the game like he usually is; the young guys are doing well, moving quickly and causing a lot of confusion for the other team. In a normal year, it would be something to get Nate really fired up for the season. Right now, though, it makes him feel a little sick to his stomach. It feels deeply wrong that Mikko's out there without him, in a different Jaeger. Just because he and Girard are incredible together doesn't make Nate any less uneasy. Maybe this is a small piece of how Sid had felt, and why he'd been such a control freak. Or. Nate reflects a little ruefully, maybe that had been all Sid.

It doesn't matter now, anyway; Sid's gone, and Nate has to get through this however he can. Going it alone isn't an option anymore. And sure, he's got his team and he's got Jo, and he's got Taylor and Toews and Connor, but he's not going to turn away anyone who wants to help. Especially someone who wants to maybe run this thing for him, so Nate can go back to having nightmares about the people he knows and loves, instead of staring, sleepless, at his ceiling as he thinks about everyone he's never met who are putting their lives in his hands.

Maybe Nate isn't cut out to be a general, but that doesn't mean he's giving up. Just because he'd been the captain of his junior team doesn't mean he wants to do it full-scale. Hell, he wouldn't want _Gabe's_ job, and Gabe only has to oversee a couple dozen guys in a game that doesn't matter, not in the grand scheme of things. Sid's shoes are way, way bigger to fill.

Someone snaps their fingers twice, right in front of Nate's eyes. "Earth to Nate Dogg."

Nate blinks up at Gabe, who's smiling down at him. "Huh?"

Gabe blinks back at him. "I was kidding, but wow, you really were on another planet."

"In another country, maybe," Nate says. "Did we win?"

Gabe raises an eyebrow. "Do you actually care?"

"Of course," Nate says, but it's automatic, and from the way Gabe's eyebrow just goes up higher, he can tell. "Uh. I got an interesting text during the game."

"From another country," Gabe says. "Ooh, tell me more."

"I actually want to do that," Nate says, standing up. "Can we talk?"

Gabe sighs. "Let me guess: you weren't sexting with your French boyfriend."

"I think I'm gonna step down as the head of this whole... thing," Nate blurts out, gesturing vaguely. "Andrew Ference offered to take it over, and I might have talked myself into letting him have it."

Gabe stares at him for a full minute, and then drags Nate up out of his seat. "Okay, yeah, let's talk."

-0-

Ference flies in a few days after the season officially starts. He lands in the middle of the day, and when Nate picks him up from the airport, he looks like a clueless Canadian tourist, complete with an actual pamphlet labelled _Guide to the Best Fall Colors in Colorado_ sticking out of his carry-on.

"Not to be paranoid, but you never know who's watching," he says, shrugging when Nate raises an eyebrow at it. "I'm known as a kind of outdoorsy guy."

Nate shakes his head. "Who would be watching?"

Ference blinks at him. "I mean," he says cautiously. "We're not supposed to be planning anything, right? The League's official position is that everyone is staying here, and that we have nothing to worry about because of the wall."

"And we all know that's bullshit," Nate adds. "I guess you have a point."

"I just don't want to get you in any trouble," Ference says, shrugging a little. "And hey, who knows? Maybe I'll go see all the fall colours while I'm here."

"There's plenty to see in beautiful Colorado," Nate says brightly, smiling like the people on the cover of Ference's pamphlet.

"I want to hike at least three mountains while I'm here," Ference says, laughing a little. "I know it's gonna get cold, though, so it'll have to be soon."

"Then we'd better get a move on," Nate replies. They have a lot to talk about, and none of it can be said out in the open.

Ference directs him to an apartment complex in Aurora. It's about fifteen minutes from the airport, and maybe half an hour from the arena. "Uh," Nate says as they park near the leasing office. "Do you... know someone here?"

"No," Ference says. He looks steadily at Nate. "I rented a place here short-term. That way I don't have to crash in a hotel, or ask anyone to put me up for however long I'll be here." He laughs a little. "I kind of thought I'd be doing this in Europe when things finally went to hell. It's a little weird to know it's gonna happen in a place where I speak the language, but it did make finding an apartment easier."

Nate doesn't know what to say. Ference has thought way ahead, a lot more than Nate's been capable of lately.

Nate stays in the car while Ference goes inside, and it's about ten minutes before he comes back out, holding a set of keys. "Building five, number 301," he says. "There's nothing in it so far, but I'll worry about it later. I just want to drop my stuff off there, and then we can talk."

"Let's get coffee on the way to my place," Nate suggests. "We'll probably need it."

They carry Ference's stuff up and go for coffee, and then they drive a mostly-quiet half hour to Nate's place. Nate's mind is going in about a million different directions, so he's at least a little glad that Ference isn't trying to make small talk or something. The last thing he needs is to crash his car and take himself out of the fight.

Soon enough, though, they're in Nate's living room. "So, uh," Nate says, taking a sip of his coffee. "I'm not sure how this is supposed to go."

"I'm sorry about Sid," Ference says softly. "He was a force of nature."

Nate laughs a little, and it doesn't sound great, but it also doesn't sound like he's about to cry, so it's close enough to a win, probably. "He was," he agrees. "In all the good ways and all the bad ways, I think."

"How much did he tell you about what he had planned?" Ference asks.

"Not a lot of the detail stuff," Nate admits. "I mean, we talked about some of it, but we never really... I don't think even Sid thought it would go this way, that he wouldn't be here. Most of what I know is me guessing based on conversations I've had with other people since everything happened."

Ference sighs. "Jesus, what a mess."

Nate smiles thinly. "You're not wrong."

"Who do we have on board?" Ference asks. "I don't want to blow our cover by talking to the wrong person."

"Lots of guys, actually," Nate says. This part is easy enough; it's not like Nate has a list written down or anything, but it's easy enough to glance at rosters for each team and point to people. It's not everyone in the League, not by a long shot, but there are a bunch of people involved.

"We figured we'd split things up," Nate continues. "Have a home base, somewhere that people could train and recover and stuff like that, and then an offensive arm."

"Makes sense," Ference says, nodding. "Home's here, I'm guessing. Defensible."

Nate nods. "We're a long way from any coastline."

"You said Toews was heading up the offense, so I'm guessing that's out of Chicago," Ference says. "Where are you training people?"

Nate sighs. "We're all split up for the season, thanks to Bettman."

Ference scowls. "He's a rotten piece of work," he says. "Okay, well, I suppose I've got my work cut out for me, seeing what sort of training I can set up while the season is happening."

"Taylor Crosby is rounding up reinforcements," Nate tells him.

"Of course she is," Ference says, smiling a little. "Crosbys will be Crosbys, I suppose. Is she planning to end up out here? I'd love to have her and whoever she can find."

Nate puts his coffee down and scrubs a hand through his hair. "I don't know. There's so much to do, and I barely know where to start." It was never supposed to be like this.

"Okay," Ference says gently. "That's fine, Nate, it really is. I'm here to help, and we'll figure it out."

"Okay," Nate echoes, slumping back in his seat.

"But first," Ference adds, "I need you to help me with something."

"What's that?" Nate asks, leaning forward a little.

Ference grins. "I'm not sure where to get a bed," he says, and Nate can't help his laugh.

"Don't worry," he tells Ference. "I know exactly how to get to Ikea."

-0-

It's not that Nate doesn't get to talk to Jo often; they text all the time, and they do their best to call each other at least twice a week. Both of them having enough time to FaceTime is pretty rare, though, so Nate's excited when their schedules finally line up the week before Halloween.

"Tell me how you're doing," Jo says, "and don't bullshit me or I'll ask Tyson."

Some days Nate regrets that his boyfriend and his best friend like each other so much. Mostly it's fine, but then there are days like today, where they gang up on him. "Better," he settles on after a moment.

Jo gives him a crooked smile. "That's good. I've been worried about you."

"I'm glad Ference is here," Nate admits. "It was... I didn't want to let Sid down, but it was too much, trying to be him."

"I like you a lot more than him," Jo says quietly.

"I like you a lot more than I like everybody else," Nate replies.

Jo beams at him. "We're ridiculous, you know."

"But we're also the best," Nate says, smiling right back. "It's pretty great."

"The best at waiting four years to make a move," Jo teases.

"I was waiting for my moment," Nate protests, laughing.

Jo shakes his head. "I was waiting until I wouldn't make you miserable."

"You would never have made me miserable," Nate says softly. "I wish Tampa hadn't been so shitty to you, but I wish I could've been there for you better."

"I wasn't ready," Jo replies. "I was too much in my own head. And I thought I was ready to fight, but… Jesus, look at what just happened."

"It's so different," Nate says, closing his eyes for a second and shaking his head. "The game has rules and penalties and a way to tap out when you're in over your head. Actual fights..."

"Have real consequences," Jo says flatly. "Why did they ever think this was a game?"

"Bettman," Nate says, an answer and a swear at the same time.

Jo grimaces. "The less I have to hear that name the better."

"Fair," Nate says. "Hey, so. We have a few days off around American Thanksgiving, and I was wondering if you wanted to try to plan something?"

Jo smiles. "How about you come up here, so we don't get surrounded by Americans."

"Great plan," Nate says, smiling back. "We should eat anything but turkey. No cranberry sauce, either."

"How about sleeping in late and going out for brunch?" Jo suggests.

"Sounds perfect," Nate says a little dreamily. "I miss sleeping with you."

"I miss summer," Jo replies. "So many excuses for you to get your shirt off."

Nate waggles his eyebrows. "I promise to take my shirt off for you even though it's cold as fuck outside in Montreal in November."

Jo starts laughing. "I promise I'll help you stay warm."

"I'll hold you to that," Nate says, grinning. "Especially since me taking my shirt off will probably lead to me taking my pants off, and then I'll need extra help staying warm."

Jo runs a hand down his chest, his eyes going dark. "Maybe I should book us a cabin. Somewhere we can be alone."

"I'd be into that," Nate says immediately. "So, so into it."

"Enough to make some noise?" Jo asks.

Nate grins. "Depends how far out in the woods this cabin is. I wouldn't want to scandalise your neighbours."

"At least your parents won't be in the next room," Jo teases.

"You could have said no," Nate points out, laughing. "I seem to remember you being pretty into what we were doing, though."

"Of course I was," Jo replies. "It's you."

Nate knows that his smile is probably too big, too goofy, but it's _Jo_. What's he going to do, not smile? "You're pretty great," he says after a moment. "In case you didn't know that."

"You tell me that a lot," Jo says.

"But I don't think I have so far on this call," Nate says. "So I needed to say it anyway."

Jo wrinkles his nose. "You're disgusting." He's grinning so much that Nate is pretty sure he doesn't mind.

"Maybe," Nate says, "but I love you anyway. So there."

"I love you too. So there," Jo replies, and he sticks out his tongue.

Nate waits a second, then another, and sure enough, Jo starts laughing. It's easy to laugh with him, to watch how the skin around his eyes crinkles and be happy that he's the one who gets to see Jo like this, make him laugh like this. Some days, Nate reflects, it's the little happy moments that make it possible for him to face everything else that's going on.

One day, they won't have to fight anymore. One day they'll get to have this for real. It's not going to be soon, Nate's pretty sure. It sucks, but there's so much yet to be done, and they can't even start until an attack happens in North America. It's a terrible kind of holding pattern, but at least there's a light at the end of the tunnel, and it looks an awful lot like Jo's smile.

"You'd better brush up on your French. I don't want you to ruin my image," Jo teases.

"You might want to plan on doing most of the talking, then," Nate says. "All I remember is 'go slower.'"

Jo blushes bright red. "That's a good one to remember."

Nate grins. "I'll make sure I don't forget it between now and then."

"Good. That's good." Jo bites his lip. "I can't wait."

"A month," Nate says. "That's all. We can make it a month."

Jo nods. "We made it this far. A month is easy."

"And we can plan out Christmas break when we see each other," Nate promises. "And, like, All-Star break, or our bye weeks." He smiles at the smile Jo is giving him. "I want to spend all the free time I have with you, I guess."

"Ugh," Jo says, flopping back on his bed. "Why are you so cute?"

"You think _I'm_ the cute one?" Nate asks, laughing. "You've met yourself, right?"

"We're both the worst," Jo complains.

Nate can't help laughing again. "Then I guess it's a good thing we're sticking together."

"The best thing," Jo declares, and Nate can't argue with that.

-0-

This season would be a nightmare even without the kaiju attacks. Nate has no idea who put the schedule together, but apparently they thought it was a good idea to have a dozen games on the same day in the middle of November. At least it's a home game for the Avs; road games are always tougher, and they always seem to be the worst when there are a bunch of other games happening at the same time. Maybe the Jaeger gods only have so much luck to spread around.

Nate is doing a last-minute pre-game check before the game against the Oilers starts when Mikko comes barrelling into the prep room. "Nate," he yells, and it's not the usual pre-game nerves in his voice. It's something that sounds a lot closer to sheer panic. "Nate, come down from there. Training room, now, the televisions are on--"

"What--" Nate says, but Mikko grabs him by the arm and drags him out.

"Nate," Tyson says, appearing in the doorway to the trainers' room before Nate steps in. "Hey, buddy, c'mon. You don't want to see the televisions. Let's go hang out somewhere else."

Nate tries to push past him, but Tyson doesn't budge. He might be small, but he's been in the League for a long time. and he knows how to brace against someone who's chasing the rabbit.

"You don't want to see this," Tyson says, gentler this time, as he grabs Nate's arm and pushes him back into the hallway. "I saw enough that I can answer your questions. Let's go sit."

"What's going on?" Nate manages to choke out. His mind is spinning with hundreds of terrible possibilities.

"The kaiju are here," Tyson says, simple and short. "More than one. Multiple attack sites."

Nate's glad Tyson is holding onto him, because he wants to sit down on the floor and scream. "Where," he whispers. There's a reason Tyson wouldn't want him to see the footage, he thinks. Cole Harbour is too close to the water, too near a wall that doesn't have a chance of holding things back. His family is here, but Sid's family--Taylor--

Tyson keeps him moving by force of sheer stubbornness. "Come sit down first."

Nate swallows hard against the urge to vomit. "Tys," he begs.

"Nate, just trust me," Tyson insists.

He does, and that's pretty much all that lets him follow Tyson down the hallway and into an empty room. It's not until Tyson herds him towards a chair and turns to close the door that Nate realises they're in the coach's office.

"They hit the east coast," Tyson says flatly, not wasting any time in keeping his promise.

Nate closes his eyes and braces himself. "Cole Harbour."

Tyson puts his hand on Nate's wrist. "And further south. Nate, they hit Florida."

"Florida," Nate echoes. "But Jo's not in--"

And then he remembers. Twelve games. Montreal's east coast road trip. Jo's excitement to meet up with some old teammates before his game today.

"They're still fighting, but it doesn't look good. I'm so sorry, Nate," Tyson says softly.

"Is he," Nate asks. He feels winded and he's not sure why. "He's been with Domi. Have you seen..."

Tyson squeezes Nate's wrist. "Four Jaegers are already down. They didn't say which ones."

"Four," Nate says. His voice sounds raw and choked, and it's not until he gasps in a breath that he realises he's crying. "_Four_. Already?"

"They think--the distance doesn't make sense unless there are multiple breaches," Tyson admits.

"Oh my god," Nate says. "We didn't… We're not prepared for this. We never thought there would be multiple breaches."

"I know." Tyson pulls him into a hug, and holds on tight.

There's a knock on the door, and before Nate can do anything, it opens. "Hey," someone says. Nate closes his eyes as he recognises Connor's voice. "I know it's not a good time, Nate, but Ference called me as soon as he heard, and he asked me to find you so we can meet up with him, if you're up to it."

Nate tries to stand up, but his knees are weak.

"Hey, Davo, give us a few," Tyson says. "Text Nate about where you're meeting, okay? I promise he'll be there. Just... give us a few minutes here, man."

Connor ducks his head. "Sorry. I know it's a lot to deal with."

Nate wants to laugh, but he can barely breathe. "I need to call Jo's mom."

"Okay," Connor says. "Ference is on his way here now. I'm gonna go talk to your coach, see what we can get set up." He hesitates. "The, uh. Our game is officially cancelled, not that that's worth much."

"If Bettman doesn't cancel the season I'll strangle him myself," Tyson says.

Connor snorts. "I think there's a line forming for that."

Nate doesn't say anything; all he can think is _Florida, Florida, Florida._

"I'll text when I figure out where we'll be," Connor adds. "I'm... I hope everything turns out okay, Nate. I'm sorry."

Nate takes a deep breath, holds it, and nods. He focuses on Connor's face; he looks pale, kind of drawn. "Mitch and Dylan?" he asks.

"Freaking out, but they're okay," Connor says.

Nate wants to punch him, just a little. He manages to swallow it down somehow. "Good," he says. "I'm glad." And it's not that he isn't. It's just that he... he has no idea about Jo, and it's not like he can call. All he can do it wait for someone to report from Tampa, and call Jo's parents.

"I need to make a call." Nate continues. "I'll find you after."

Connor nods and backs out of the room, and Tyson touches Nate's shoulder. "Do you want me to stay or go while you call?"

"Stay," Nate practically begs. He doesn't want to break down and make things worse for Jo's parents.

"Sure, of course," Tyson says. He grabs Nate's hand and squeezes it, and Nate is so profoundly grateful for his best friend in this moment. "I'll sit right here, okay? Let me know if you need a hug or something."

"If you hug me I'll cry." Then Nate thinks about it for a minute. "I'll cry more."

"And if you need to, it's fine," Tyson says patiently. "I'm here."

Nate nods and takes a deep, shuddering breath before digging out his phone.

-0-

Jo's parents don't know anything yet either, and all Nate can cling to is that no news is good news. It'll have to be enough for now, because he doesn't want to sit in front of the television and watch the east coast get swallowed up piece by piece, even if he didn't have a meeting to get to. He promises to stay in touch, and tries not to wonder how long the phone networks are going to last. Hopefully that's not a thing he actually has to worry about, but he's talked with Bea about how bad things got back in Sweden. He's got an idea of what's coming.

"Okay," he tells Tyson after hanging up. "Now onto the next godawful thing."

"But first," Tyson says firmly, "hugs."

Nate doesn't even try to fight him; there's usually not much point anyway. Also, Tyson gives great hugs, and it's not like Nate doesn't need one right now.

"Okay," Tyson says eventually. "I should call my mom and remind her I had a home game before my inbox explodes. Don't try to drive yourself home, buddy."

Nate nods and holds on for a few seconds longer before pulling back. "Are you going now?"

Tyson pats him on the shoulder. "Only to track down ice cream. I'll be back for you, okay?"

"I think it's a Chunky Monkey day," Nate says. It's his for-emergencies-only flavour, because he can and will eat a whole pint in one sitting. Tyson nods seriously, like Nate just asked him to hold his firstborn child. It makes Nate crack a smile, even though it doesn't feel like a great one. "Thanks."

"Don't forget me when you're hanging out with hockey royalty again," Tyson jokes.

"I won't forget you," Nate promises. "Connor McDavid isn't buying me Chunky Monkey and then driving me home."

"Damn right he's not," Tyson says, complete with emphatic finger-pointing.

The fact that Tyson can still be so... Tyson, even when the world is very literally falling apart, is what gives Nate the courage to shake his head and walk out of the coach's office. Connor texted that he and Ference are in the video review room, so that's where Nate heads.

"Hey," Connor says softly when Nate walks in. "How are you holding up?"

Nate shrugs. "Right now, I'm dealing, but I reserve the right to change that depending on the news."

Ference nods. "That's smart, Mack. We'll probably all take turns having a breakdown at some point."

"As long as we make sure there's always at least one person _not_ having a breakdown, I think we'll manage," Nate says, sitting down. "So. What now?"

Connor glances sideways at Ference, still automatically deferring to his former captain, and Ference sighs. "We start to get an idea of what we're dealing with," he says grimly.

"I already heard about the attack in Tampa," Nate says flatly. "If you want me to be of any use we need to leave that off the table for now."

"We can do that," Ference says. Nate's pretty sure that Ference isn't judging him for it; he's kind of too much of a dad to do that, and also, he just looks sympathetic.

"New York was hit pretty hard," Connor says, looking down at his hands. "Both teams took massive casualties."

"Calgary was at the Rangers and Ottawa was at the Islanders," Ference adds. "It looks... bad."

"All of it looks bad," Connor says. "New Jersey tried to send out reinforcements but they barely made a dent."

"They weren't even playing today," Nate says, more reflex than anything. "Are they... have we heard about casualties for them?"

"Hallsy and Ebs are down," Connor says by way of explanation.

Nate sucks in a breath. "Shit," he says, and he sounds a little weak to his own ears. He'd absolutely do the same thing, in a heartbeat, if it meant saving...

"I've heard from Marc Staal," Ference says, interrupting Nate's train of thought before it derailed him entirely. "He got Skjei and Monahan out, and Lundqvist and Hamonic somehow made it. That's all I've heard from that game, but it's subject to change."

Connor sighs and sets his phone down on the table. "Philly was hit pretty hard. And the news just showed footage of kaiju in Raleigh."

Nate stares at him. "How did they get that far from the coast?"

"They flew."

"They," Nate repeats. "They fucking what now? Since when can they fly?"

Ference clears his throat. "Apparently they can adapt."

"Great," Nate says weakly. "That's... That's terrible news."

"Makes me wish I'd paid more attention in high school biology," Connor mutters.

Ference makes an awful, pained noise, and when Nate looks at him, he's staring at his phone. "Sorry," he says after a moment. "Sorry, it's--Boston. It's... the whole city, they're saying."

Oh god. It's really happening, and they're falling like dominoes.

"They were playing Chicago," Connor says, leaning forward. "That's--Jonny Toews was supposed to..."

Nate grabs his phone and starts googling. "There are still Jaegers fighting in the area," he says. "One with the Hawk on it, two with the Bear."

"Come on, come on," Ference chants. "Fucking kill the thing."

Nate can't look away from his phone. One of the Bruins' Jaegers is definitely Bergeron and Marchand; there are only so many drift teams in the world that can pull off the moves Nate is seeing. He has no idea who's in the other one, but he still feels something awful squeeze in his chest when it doesn't move fast enough and the kaiju rears, smacking it back. It disappears into the waves, and it's all Nate can focus on, trying to see if it bobs back up above the surface.

It doesn't.

Ference shoves back from the table, stomps over, and punches the wall. Nate looks at Connor, but Connor's just looking kind of helplessly back at him.

Nate looks back to his phone just in time to see Bergeron and Marchand rush at the kaiju while the Hawk Jaeger plods through the water towards where the other Jaeger went down. Everything happens really, really fast after that: the Hawk diving beneath the water, the Bear shooting off some sort of crazy-looking laser weapon, the kaiju falling backwards as it gets hit. There's a half-second of stillness, and then the Bear fires again, and the kaiju screams as it leaps for the Bear at the same time, and--

When Nate looks back, the Hawk is pulling the Bear Jaeger that had gone underwater back towards shore, and the kaiju and the other Bear Jaeger, the one that Bergeron and Marchand had been piloting, are slowly sinking beneath the waves.

-0-

Jonathan Toews is the single most laser-focused person Nate has ever met, and that's honestly a huge competition, given that he's a pro athlete. Toews has the kind of eyes that bore into your soul if you happen to be unlucky enough to piss him off.

"Unless there was some kind of miracle, me and Brinks are the only ones who made it from our team," he says, voice flat. "And DeBrusk and McAvoy--they should be okay. Hopefully. But you saw..."

"Yeah, we were watching live," Nate says. Ference is still having a hard time with it.

Toews blows out a breath. "That fucking thing was stronger than anything I thought we'd be facing. I mean, I knew it would be bad, but..." He presses his lips together and shakes his head. "We weren't even close to prepared."

"The League doesn't have many players left who've actually fought kaiju," Nate points out. "Before Russia, the last big attack was over a decade ago."

"Yeah," Toews says. "And a bunch of those people didn't make it through the attack."

"So we're fucked," Connor sums up.

Toews shrugs a little. "I'm not giving up yet," he says. "But I think it's time to get everything moving, Davo."

Davo smiles, but it's a dark, twisted thing that makes him look years older. "Bettman won't be happy."

"Good," Toews says, more of a snarl than a word. "If he'd let us actually help in Europe, then it might not have gotten this bad."

"Or we might've all been dead months before the new breaches opened," Connor replies. Nate turns to stare at him, and Connor just shrugs.

"Screw Bettman either way," Toews says. "I'm ready to stop fucking around and start organising the troops. I know it's short notice, but are you ready to go?"

"I moved my family here in September," Nate says. "I've been ready for months."

Connor clears his throat. "Give me a couple of days," he says, voice a little quiet. "I'll get going soon. I just need to make some arrangements first."

"Where are you going?" Nate can't help asking. He's tried to catch up, but he still keeps tripping over spaces where Sid used to be.

Connor smiles without humour. "Everywhere," he says. "I'm going to help the juniors teams. See if there's anyone who can help out here, do whatever I can to help whoever's left."

Nate feels a little sick. It's fucked up that things have already come to this--that they're recruiting kids.

Connor must see some of that on Nate's face. "I'm not just sending kids back here to get killed," he says. "I'll make sure they can fight, and they'll get more training. Nobody here wants kids to just… get killed."

"Some of them already don't have anywhere else to go home to," Toews adds.

Nate just sighs. He can't argue with anything they're saying, it just really sucks.

Connor turns to Toews. "Two days. I'll head back east and work my way back west."

Toews nods. "I'm rounding up whoever's left and heading back to the front lines."

"And I'm," Nate says, trailing off. _Waiting for news out of Tampa_ is the closest to the truth, but he's not going to say it out loud.

"You're our point of contact," Connor says gently.

Nate takes a deep breath and nods. "Right. And I'm helping Ference." He doesn't have to be in charge, he reminds himself. He just has to help out however he can.

"I'll send you everyone I can, to make things work," Connor adds.

"Just," Nate says, looking back and forth between them. "Be safe. Or, like, as safe as you can." They've already lost so many people, and Nate knows it's not going to get better.

There's a knock on the door, and Gabe pokes his head in. He doesn't even glance at Toews or Connor, just looks right at Nate. "Hey. How's it going in here?"

Nate grimaces. "It's fine. They're not, like, spiriting me away." Gabe doesn't like it when people try to take his things.

"Good," Gabe says, coming fully into the room. He does what he probably thinks is a casual lean against the wall, arms crossed. It would probably be more convincing if he didn't have his murder face on. "So what _are_ we trying to do?"

"Kick some kaiju ass," Toews says flatly, squaring off against Gabe.

"And not get pissed off at each other in the process," Connor says, looking back and forth between Gabe and Toews with an exasperated look on his face before facing Gabe. "Jonny's going to take anyone who's willing and do a strike force kind of thing. Gabe, I don't know who from your team would want to go, but Jonny's not taking anyone who doesn't volunteer." He gaze flips back to Toews. "Right, Jonny?"

Toews nods, but he doesn't take his eyes off Gabe. Nate has the feeling that if they were dogs, they'd both be growling.

"I'm not--I'm staying here," Nate says.

Gabe shifts. "Okay. Good."

"Ference wants to use Denver as a staging area," Nate tells him. "Somewhere people can get away from the frontlines."

Gabe finally turns to face him again. "He does? Here? He hasn't talked to me about it."

"I haven't needed to until right now," Ference says, walking into the room at what is probably just the right moment. "We should put it on the calendar, though, because now it's relevant."

"And we knew the League wouldn't be happy," Connor says. "So we limited the number of people who'd have to lie to the commissioner."

Gabe huffs. "I have no problem lying to that asshole."

Nate can't help laughing. "Yeah, but your poker face is shitty." Besides, when they'd come up with the plan, Gabe had had more than enough to worry about with getting his family out of danger. He would've been in the mood to tell Bettman to go fuck himself without hesitation.

"Gabe," Nate says, sighing a little and moving towards him. "I know it's tough, but like, chill. Just a little. Please." He hears Ference talking to Toews, voice quiet, thanking him for pulling McAvoy and DeBrusk out of the water, and he focuses harder on Gabe. "I didn't keep you out of it on purpose. This was Sid's plan," he goes on, letting all his grief and exhaustion bleed into his voice.

Gabe sighs, and his face finally looks less rage-y. "I just don't want..." he says, but he doesn't finish the sentence. Honestly, Nate doesn't need him to; he can fill in enough of the blanks on his own.

"If it helps, Tyson didn't know either," Nate tells him.

"Of course he didn't," Gabe says, and now he sounds amused. Mostly back to normal, then. "If Tyson knew, then I'd know."

Nate snorts. "Yeah, probably."

"Then I guess we'll figure it out," Gabe says, glancing over at where Ference is now talking to Connor, Toews nodding along with whatever's going on. "And I promise I'll play nice."

"Don't hurt yourself," Nate teases.

Gabe just laughs and shakes his head, and Nate smiles. Maybe they'll be able to pull this off.

-0-

It's three days of nothing, nothing, nothing, and then the League releases a statement. Nate's choking on the lack of news out of Tampa; the last thing he wants to think about is his fucking job. As it turns out, though, that's exactly what Bettman wants him to do. The League is disavowing any attempts at "vigilantism" and making veiled threats of sanctions.

"Sanctions," Tyson says as they watch the press conference in disbelief. "What the fuck are they going to do, keep us out of the playoffs?"

Bettman drones on about the National Guard, and Nate has never wanted to punch someone more.

"The _National fucking Guard,_" someone in the back of the room mutters. "If they were going to save our asses, then where the fuck is Manhattan, huh?"

"He could cut off our contracts," EJ says, keeping his voice low.

"So fucking what?" Kerfoot snaps. "Almost half the teams in the League have suffered catastrophic losses, and we barely scraped out a win. I'm not really worried about my job security at this point."

"So no money means no fucking resources," EJ snaps back. "We can't win this fight if we have nothing."

Ference clears his throat. "That's... not as much of a concern as you might think," he says calmly, like that's not a huge revelation to everyone in the room. "There have been plans in place for a long time. We can make it for awhile without any support at all from the League."

EJ turns to stare at him. "What the fuck?"

"This was," Nate says, pausing for a moment when most of the people gathered in the room turn to look at him. "This was Sid's plan, all of it. A lot of the people he worked with, people he was close to... there's a lot stashed away." Nate's pretty sure he wasn't supposed to know about that part of the plan, but he'd found a bank ledger hidden under the silverware holder in Sid's kitchen a few years ago. He'd asked, and Sid had regarded him for a long, long time before quietly explaining.

"Freaking Canadian mafia," Compher says, shaking his head.

Nate shrugs. "I'm not gonna lie, man, I thought Sid was out of his mind sometimes, too. But..." He doesn't have to fill in the ending. Bettman is still talking in the background, saying something about "significant losses" and "entertainment-value sport fights."

"I bet he was fucking happy the KHL was wiped out," Gabe says darkly.

Nobody says anything. There's really no use denying it.

Bettman ends his speech with a weak tribute to everyone who died. It's incredibly insincere, and Nate's pretty sure almost everyone else there is feeling the same way. It's impressive that nobody throws the tv remote through the screen.

Ference stands up once the TV turns off. "So," he starts. "I'm gonna say some stuff here, and if you don't want to hear it, that's fine. I'm not gonna judge you if you want to leave."

Nate sits back in his seat and crosses his arms. He knows what Ference is going to say, but he still needs to be here for his team.

"I'm splitting off from the League," Ference says evenly. "I already know there are people on my side; I already know that not everyone will be. But I'm not going to stand by and let the League make decisions about what I do when I could be helping."

A couple of guys get up and leave before Ference can say anything else. Nate's not surprised; not everyone is going to want to go against the League, and not everyone is going to want to fight. 

Ference takes a deep breath. "I'm not talking about just fighting. We need to mobilise, but the Jaegers are going to need a lot of support. The survivors are going to need a lot more support."

"What's the goal, exactly?" Josty asks.

"Survival," Nate says. 

Pretty much the entire room turns to look at him.

"The League wants us to keep play-fighting," Nate says. "And that was fine. I mean, I'm here, I've been doing it right along with you guys; there's nothing wrong with that. But now Bettman wants us to keep doing it while the kaiju are attacking." He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly and doesn't think about Tampa. "Just because we're still here now doesn't mean the kaiju won't surprise us somewhere eventually. Maybe if we take the fight to them, we'll have a chance."

Ference clears his throat. "We're not trained for this, and we all know what the cost could be. If any of you want to take on support roles, that's great. We still need you."

"And if you're not sure yet," Nate adds, "that's totally fine too. We're not, like, running you out of town if you don't sign up right now."

"Or if you don't sign up ever," Gabe says firmly.

"If you want to stay, my aim is to make it safe to stay," Ference says. "Whether you want to be part of what I'm doing or not. We're not evacuating civilians, and if that's what you want to be, then that's what you'll be. If you want to bring your families here, well, we'll see what we can do to help."

There's some murmuring from the guys left in the room; Nate wants to know who's saying what, but he also knows that he's firmly a part of this thing of Ference's. He doesn't want to make it seem like he's pressuring any of them, so when Ference nods and leaves the room, Nate follows him.

"That wasn't as bad as it could've been," Ference says.

Nate shrugs a little. "I figured most of them would listen," he says. "And some of the people who left might come back. I guess we'll see."

"So now we wait," Ference says, smiling tightly.

Gabe knocks on the door, and they both jump. "So," he starts, looking back and forth between them quickly. "Some of the guys left, but a bunch of the ones who are still here have questions."

Ference smiles a little crookedly. "Well," he says. "Let's see if I can answer them."

-0-

The slim silver lining in the way everything happened so quickly is that Nate didn't have time to think about anything. There was only time for reactions, for going from plan to plan to plan, so it's almost an entire week before he finds himself sitting with nothing to do.

He stares at his phone for a stupidly long time before it hits him: it's been a week, and there's still no word about Jo. Tampa is still too much of a mess for anyone to even think about recovering any of the Jaegers that sunk to the depths. There's no way to tell if it was all of them or not; the news crews couldn't get close enough for an actual count, and people have largely been focused on trying to help the devastated communities around Tampa recover in whatever way they can to report on possible survivors. Ference has mostly been relying on check-ins: people self reporting that yay, they didn't die.

There have been no calls from Tampa. Jo hasn't checked in anywhere. And none of the hospitals have called his parents, or Nate would know.

He's been trying not to think about it, and it's been sort of easy, because there has been so much else to think about. Now, though, everything is taken care of for the moment, and Nate has nothing else he can focus on. He doesn't know what to do. It's not like he can call the Montreal brass and beg for information, now that they've broken away from the League. Besides, he doesn't even know who he'd call. The owner hadn't travelled to the game, sure, but it's not like Nate can just call Geoff Molson. Everyone else is just as much of a question mark as Jo is right now.

It keeps going through his head, over and over: Jo would've called. He would've texted their old Mooseheads group chat. He would've messaged Nate on Facebook, and chirped him about being an old man for keeping his account active. He wants to say that he'd know if something had happened to Jo, but the more he thinks about it, the more the ball of dread in his stomach solidifies, and the more certain he is.

"Jo's gone," he says out loud, staring at his phone as it stubbornly refuses to ring. "Jo didn't make it out of the attack. Jo..."

Saying it out loud makes it real, and Nate barely makes it to the trash can before he throws up. He doesn't realise he's crying until his stomach is empty; it's only then that he feels the tears dripping hot down his cheeks. He presses his hands into his thighs and tries to curl into a ball of nothing. This wasn't supposed to happen; Jo was supposed to be safe in Montreal. Instead, he'd been in Tampa, the place that had cast him out in the first place, and now he's probably going to be trapped in his Jaeger forever, sitting underwater somewhere off the coast.

Nate's struck by the image of Jo's Jaeger rended open, his face left exposed to the elements. He's glad he didn't move too far away from the garbage can, because it makes him retch again. Even if they find him, even if they get his body back, it won't be the same. Nothing's ever going to be the same. And Nate wants to be able to bury Jo, he does, but he also knows that they can't afford the resources to retrieve the Jaegers right now. He doesn't even have a guess as to when they _will_ have those resources. Maybe if the kaiju take pity on them and decide not to come back. 

Nate wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and tries not to laugh hysterically. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do with this. He never planned on losing Sid, his friendship and his guidance, but he sure as hell never planned on losing _Jo_. What the hell is he even supposed to do? Nate never bothered picturing a life without Jo in it.

Thinking about it makes tears well up in his eyes again, and there's really nothing he can do to keep them from spilling down his cheeks.

He has no idea how long it is before there's a knock on the door; he can't make himself get up, so it's probably been a while.

"Nate," someone says, and it's not Tyson or Gabe or anyone that Nate was expecting. It sounds sort of like Taylor. 

"Come in," he manages to croak.

Sure enough, Taylor pushes her way in immediately, and her face crumples as soon as she sees him. "Oh, Nate, I'm so sorry."

"When did you get here?" Nate asks. Did he know she was coming and manage to forget? Is he that much of a mess?

"Not long ago," she says. She glances around, then heads for the sink and grabs a glass from the drying rack, turning the tap on. "Come on, up. Come rinse your mouth out, okay?"

Nate pushes himself up on wobbly legs. Taylor slings an arm around his waist when he makes it to the sink, and she doesn't let go even though Nate knows he's objectively gross. He's still crying, the kind where tears are running down his face even though he's not making any noise, and Taylor just stays pressed to his side. He rinses out his mouth and tries to wipe his face, but it's useless.

"Can you manage brushing your teeth, or do you just want to rinse with mouthwash?" Taylor asks, guiding him through his apartment towards the bathroom. "You'll feel better when you're not tasting it, I promise, but if you can't brush right now that's fine."

Nate squares his shoulders and forces his legs to hold steady under him. He's been through drills way tougher than this.The sight of his toothbrush makes the nausea flare back up, though. "Mouthwash," he says, and Taylor nods and rubs absently at his back as Nate gargles.

"We can talk if you want," Taylor says when he's done.

Nate shakes his head. He's in no shape to say it out loud again.

"We can also nap," Taylor suggests. "Napping sounds awesome, and I'm a good cuddle buddy."

On any other day Nate would try and think of a way to chirp her, but today he just nods.

"Okay," she says, gently ushering him into his bedroom. "It's gonna be okay, Nate. I've got you."

-0-

It's not better the next day, and the day after that is pretty shitty too. Slowly, though, gradually, Nate relearns how to breathe in this new world that doesn't have Jo in it, and Taylor doesn't chirp him even once. Just because Nate already has a biological sister doesn't mean he isn't grateful for Taylor, too. She runs interference with everyone except Tyson and Gabe, and Nate barely has to talk if he doesn't want to. She lets him wallow in his grief, and when he starts to find his footing on the other side of the initial shock of it all, she's there to help him figure himself out. Nate forces himself not to think about why she's an expert in the early stages of grief.

"So," she says. It's been a few days since... since she arrived, and Nate feels more like an actual human person today than he has the rest of the time. "I came to bring a few people and introduce them around, but I also came because I had some news to share with Ference, if you want to hear it." She smiles slightly. "Good news."

"We definitely need some good news around here," Nate admits. Most of the other teams are following their lead and breaking away from Bettman, but a few are stupidly optimistic.

"I was talking to Amanda, who was talking to Stretch," Taylor says. "Uh, Ashley Johnston, who was the captain of the Riveters. Anyway, Stretch put her in touch with a few people, and long story short, Manon Rheume has been running camps like Sid did. The women's leagues are ready to go into action."

Nate stops dead in his tracks. "They... what? What are you saying? Action, like--"

"Half of them are already on their way to Toews," Taylor says. "And a bunch of them are going to get their shit together and come here." She laughs. "Manon said she and Sid talked about maybe joining the camps together, but Manon thought he wasn't going hard enough."

Nate raises his eyebrows at that. "Wow, the kaiju won't know what hit 'em."

"That's the plan," Taylor replies.

"Wow," Nate says again, smiling slightly. "Is, uh. Is Manon here, or..."

Taylor laughs. "Your hero worship is adorable," she teases. "No, though. She's planning to come out, but not until the rest of the women are settled in with Toews." Nate tries not to be too disappointed, and Taylor ruffles his hair. "Come on, there's plenty of other people you should meet."

"Like who?" Nate asks as they start walking again. "Give me a rundown."

"It's a mix of people from both women's leagues," Taylor replies. "Some international team players, too."

"Anyone I know?" Nate asks, and he can't help smirking when Taylor blushes.

"There you are," someone calls from the end of the hallway, and when Nate turns, he sees Amanda Kessel walking towards them. He elbows Taylor, and she reaches out and pinches him before walking ahead of him towards Amanda.

Amanda wraps her arms around Taylor in a tight hug. Nate opens his mouth to chirp a little, but everything comes rushing back in all at once: the attacks, Tampa, Jo. He pulls in a slow, shaky breath instead, willing himself to just keep going.

"Hey, Amanda, good to see you," he says flatly as he catches up to them.

"Nate," Amanda says, detaching herself from Taylor and reaching to pull him in for a hug. He doesn't know her that well, but he's not really in the business of turning away hugs, and this is a pretty good time for them, honestly. "I'm so sorry," she says quietly, and he's, like, a full foot taller than she is, but she rocks them back and forth for a little while before drawing back.

Nate swallows hard and tries again. "It's great to have you on board."

Amanda pulls back and smiles grimly. "I'm glad we kept training like we did," she says. "There are fewer of us than there are you League guys, but we're just as good." This time the smiles she flashes is fiercer. "Maybe even better."

"I hope so," Nate blurts out. "We got our asses kicked."

"You weren't expecting it," Amanda says gently. "Not that you always win the ones you're expecting, but the way everything happened, there was never really a chance."

Nate squeezes his eyes shut. Jo never really had a chance.

One of them touches his arm, and when Nate opens his eyes, Taylor's giving him a sympathetic look. "C'mon," she says. "There are a bunch of people here, Nate. You should meet the new people who are going to be running around your arena."

"Oh man, Gabe's really going to hate that," Nate says, grimacing.

Amanda starts laughing. "I met his sister already," she says. "I have the feeling she'll help him come to terms with having more of the women's players around."

Nate shakes his head. "No, it's just--he sulks around new people. You should've seen him with Toews."

Taylor makes a considering noise. "Maybe I should talk to him," she says thoughtfully. "I know Sid was thinking he'd set up in Denver because it's easier to defend this far away from the ocean, but we definitely don't want to piss anyone off."

"It's less pissed off and more cat who just had an unwanted bath," Nate says. "Come on, I'll show you. It's hilarious."

"It sounds like it," Taylor says, clearly amused. "But I also hope it's something he can get over, because it's probably gonna get old fast once things really start happening."

Nate starts walking again and looks over his shoulder. "Remind me, have you ever met Tyson Barrie?"

"No," Amanda replies. "I've seen some media, though. How much of that is an act?"

Nate grins. "None of it. Trust me, whatever bad mood Gabe is in, Tyson can help fix it."

"Wait, that's all real?" Taylor asks delightedly. "Oh man, I have to meet him, like, yesterday."

"Well then, follow me," Nate says, and he almost feels good enough to laugh about it.

-0-

The first time someone asks if Nate is ready to get back to the fight, he has to run for the nearest garbage can so he doesn't throw up on the floor. "I'll take that as a no," Wheeler says as Nate loses his breakfast.

Nate never drifted with Jo, but he can still hear the sickening wrench of metal. "No," he rasps, still leaning over the garbage can. "No. No way, not ever again."

He dreams about his lungs filling with salt water, and wakes up trying to fight his way to the surface. He's more than sure that if he tries to drift with someone, he'll pull them right under with him. Forget chasing the rabbit; he'd drag them to the bottom of Tampa Bay.

There's a sour taste in his mouth long after he brushes his teeth, and the more he thinks about it, the more sure he is that they have to lay out some ground rules. There have to be other people like Nate, ones who've lost too much and would carry too much into the drift. There are probably even more who would want to help but don't have the training, the capability. It's not like piloting a Jaeger is the only thing that's going to matter anymore. There has to be a way to make all the broken pieces fit together into something new.

It takes him a few days to figure out what, exactly, he wants to say, but by the time he walks into the room where Taylor, Gabe, and Ference are sitting, he at least knows where he wants to start. He surveys them all, then quietly says, "I'm never getting in a Jaeger again."

Gabe sags in his chair. "Thank fuck. No offence, but Tyson would kill me if I put you back in training."

Nate snorts without meaning to, but that's so incredibly Tyson that it's comforting. "I'm probably not the only one," he goes on. "And not everyone is cut out for fighting like that."

"Not to mention, we don't have anywhere near enough Jaegers as it is," Taylor points out. "A lot of them are in desperate need of repair."

"So we need tech people," Nate says. "And, like, people who can design new weapons, medical people..."

Taylor nods. "We need every kind of people. If this is going to be our home base, we need to figure out how to feed everyone. And where they're going to stay."

"And transport," Ference chimes in. "So we can ship people out when their training is done."

"There are a ton of jobs, and a lot of them aren't fighting at all," Gabe says, nodding. "In fact, probably most of them aren't getting into a Jaeger."

Nate nods along, fighting back a giddy sense of relief. "We need to make that clear. We're not just going to push everyone through a meat grinder."

"We can take more of Connor's kids, too," Ference says. "We'll need to figure out living situations, but a lot of them... there aren't always homes for him to get them back to."

Nate squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to think about the arena crowds who died in the first attacks. Jaeger pilots who tried to fight back, not knowing their families were dying. If he ever gets his hands on Bettman...

Taylor leans over as Gabe and Ference start making a list out of possible job ideas. "Hey," she says quietly. "This was a great idea."

"I just can't--" Nate chokes out. He needs to do something, to stay busy. But he also needs people to stop asking when he's getting back out there.

"I don't want to either," Taylor says, somehow even quieter than before. "I was always gonna follow in Sid's footsteps, y'know? But now..." Her laugh sounds like she's maybe masking tears. "He went and put his feet somewhere I don't want to follow, and all I think about when I look at a Jaeger is him falling."

"He always had to be extra," Nate jokes, reaching for her hand.

"Extra _stupid_," she says, but she smiles thinly as she takes it, gripping tightly. "I want to help, but maybe not from inside the Jaegers, not anymore."

Nate hesitates, but not for long. If he doesn't tell someone he isn't going to make it through this. "I keep feeling like I'm the one who went down. Like I'm trapped and drowning."

The smile Taylor gives him is kind of devastated. "That's just grief, I think."

Nate shakes his head. _Just_ is a hell of a word for having to keep supplies next to his bed for when he wakes up nauseous and with his mouth tasting like salt water.

"Hey, guys," Gabe says, and Nate turns to look at him. It's weird to notice how much Gabe has changed in such a short time, but it's also impossible not to see it. A month ago he would have chirped them for not paying attention; two weeks ago, he would have calmly but sternly told them to get their heads in the game. Now, though, he looks sympathetic and exhausted in equal measure. "We've got some stuff to work with here, and we're gonna make some calls. Don't stay here all day, okay?"

He squeezes Nate's shoulder, and then he leaves with Ference.

Taylor is still holding his hand, and Nate doesn't really want to let go. It's comforting, grounding, reminding him that he's still got people even if he doesn't have the person he thought would always be by his side. They're going to figure out a way to get through this. They have to.

Taylor squeezes his hand hard before letting go. "I want to call my mom," she says. "You should tell Tyson about the whole 'not piloting again' thing so he doesn't murder eyes Gabe, and then we should have ice cream."

Nate rolls his eyes. "Tyson will murder eyes _me_ if we go to DQ without him."

"As if he wasn't invited," Taylor says, standing and smiling at him. "Go find him. Meet me back here in twenty."

"Yes ma'am." Nate ducks out of the way when she tries to smack him, and goes to do as he's told. He feels lighter, somehow, now that he knows what to do next.

-0-

It's weird to have a place that he thinks of as his office, Nate decides as he looks around what had once been the tape review room. It's not like he's going to hang a sign with his name on the door or anything, but tons of people know to look for him here first if they need him, and... yeah, it's his office. They still have screens set up, but tape review is a thing of the distant past. Nate has instant replay of the Jaeger battles any time he wants; all he has to do is attempt sleep. His nightmares have broadened from being just about Jo, and he's honestly not sure if it's better or worse to relive Marchand and Bergeron going under the waves followed by a replay of the footage out of New York. All in glorious technicolour and surround sound, so he can't miss a single detail.

"Sleep is overrated anyway," he mutters, eyeing his coffee mug. He really should just get a coffeepot for in here.

Someone knocks loudly on the door of his office, and Nate tries his best to glare them into submission.

Mikko pokes his head in a few seconds later, and he grins at Nate's grumpy face. "I brought coffee," he announces, walking the rest of the way in holding an entire carafe in his hands. "Lots of coffee."

"Is that all for me?" Nate feels his entire face light up, and he makes grabby hands.

"Yes, because I'm your best teammate," Mikko says, offering the carafe out. Nate's pretty sure Mikko feels bad for everything on the day of the attack; if not for Tyson's timely intervention, Nate would have a lot more realistic images to go with the ones his brain conjured up for Jo going under. He'll talk to Mikko about it eventually, but he's not going to tell him not to bring coffee.

"You're my favouritest teammate," Nate replies. "Even though I'm kind of retired now."

"You still need coffee," Mikko says, way too earnest. "You make bad faces with no coffee."

"Bad faces would be bad," Nate agrees. Christ, he needs coffee even more than he thought.

"More people are here," Mikko says, sitting in one of the chairs near the table Nate's using as a desk. He looks both younger than he is and older than he could possibly be at the same time, and Nate just... hates in the general direction of Bettman for a moment. "Two players and a kid. One from Maple Leafs, one from Coyotes."

Nate sighs. "Okay, just let me inhale this and you can send them in."

"I know for a fact you can drink coffee and talk at the same time, even if I can't explain how," Nate hears, and when he turns, he sees Mitch smiling tiredly from the doorway.

Mitch seems taller than the last time Nate saw him, but his friend is a towering giant with a baby face. He's not any of the Coyotes that Nate recognises, but then he steps aside and Dylan walks into view.

"Dylan, hey," Nate says softly. "I'm sorry about your brother."

Dylan gives him the hollow-eyed smile that Nate's getting all too familiar with and slings his arm around the kid's shoulders. "This is my younger brother Matty," he says. "We're... we're it now, I guess."

"Welcome to the resistance, guys. We're not set up yet, but at least we have coffee." Not that Nate wants to share his stash, but Dylan might need it.

"I'll get more," Mikko says, leaping from his seat. Nate's gonna give him a really great Christmas gift, assuming they all make it to Christmas. "And mugs! I will bring mugs and coffee."

"Mugs would be good. I've heard it's not nice to drink directly from the jar thingie," Mitch jokes.

"You would spill it," Mikko says with the conviction of a man who has tried something he now regrets.

"So I don't know if you guys heard," Nate begins when Mikko ducks out the door. "But I'm not the training guy anymore."

"You're still our friend, dumbass," Mitch says, kicking gently at Nate's chair before he sits. "Also, we need to find an apartment, and we figured you would know where all the good spots are."

As soon as Mitch is seated, Nate punches him in the arm. "I'm just letting you know how things work around here, asshole."

Dylan snorts. "Yeah, we're going to get along just fine."

"Matty, rule number one is that if Nate and Tyson Barrie are wrestling, call for an adult," Mitch says, leaning forward. "Otherwise, someone's gonna get a mysterious injury that we're never allowed to talk about."

Matt glances pointedly between Dylan and Mitch. "Wrestling or _wrestling_?"

Nate manages not to wince too much, but Dylan jabs Matty in the side as Mitch shoots Nate a look. "Uh," Nate says, clearing his throat. "Just wrestling. I'm, uh." He doesn't have a way to say it neatly; they weren't married, so it's not like Nate's a widower, and it's hard to get too many words out when it comes to the Jo-shaped hole in his life.

Matt winces. "I should go help with coffee. Sorry, man, I didn't mean to--sorry."

"You didn't know," Nate says, swallowing past the lump in his throat as Matt slips out of the room. He's not the first one, and he won't be the last. "Anyway, I can totally help with an apartment. How big are you thinking?"

"Four bedrooms, so we have room for Mitch's family," Dylan says. "We don't know when they'll be coming yet."

"Phone lines are still down in Toronto," Mitch says firmly, like he's trying really hard to convince himself that's all it is.

Nate nods and doesn't say anything about how if they're not already out of Toronto, then it might be time to start talking about memorials instead of bedrooms. "Four bedrooms, got it," he says. "I'm guessing closer to home base is better. Anything else?"

"Davo's out there trying to catch 'em all, so we should have somewhere to put them," Dylan replies.

Nate raises an eyebrow. "You want me to find you a Pokemon gym?"

"Dude, _yes_," Mitch says.

Dylan rolls his eyes. "We were, uh," he says, glancing at Mitch. "We both talked to some teammates and guys we know around the League. We were thinking we could get a bunch of places set up, help people get relocated, that kind of thing."

Nate can't help smiling a little. It was already on his massive-and-growing list of things to do, so having someone else volunteer to take over is great timing. "Sounds like a plan to me," he says. "Let's get looking."

-0-

Nate knows Jack Eichel from the World Cup fiasco, but he hasn't had much reason to interact with the guy since then. He remembers Eichel as someone who was carrying a pretty large chip on his shoulder; that much still seems to be true, even if it's changed shape. The worst thing about it is that his anger is quiet and simmering, always threatening to boil over but never quite getting there. He's not walking around yelling at everyone he comes across, but it definitely makes him an asshole.

Eichel gets up and walks out in the middle of meetings, and training, and simple conversation. Just, whenever he decides he's done, he's done. Gabe is ready to punch him. It's not that Nate doesn't get it; Eichel hasn't let anyone forget about how his boyfriend went down in a twisted pile of unsalvageable wreckage off the coast of the Carolinas, and Nate understands it in a way he'll never stop wishing he didn't. He could do without the constant reminders, though. He could do without Eichel being a constant, furious shadow at meal times, sitting across from Nate and eating in silence. He for sure doesn't need a seemingly endless well of anger vibrating in the corner of his office, snapping a red rubber bracelet stamped with _Boston College Eagles_ on it at random intervals.

"What the fuck are you even doing in here?" Nate blurts out, after one snap too many. "I'm not part of the training program anymore."

Eichel goes completely and utterly still in an instant. "Sorry," he mutters. "It's just--people, y'know? Fucking people."

"You came to where all the people are," Nate points out as calmly as he can. As bad as he feels for Eichel, Nate has a larger responsibility now. He has a lot of work to do to keep this whole thing going; it's brutal, but time doesn't stop to allow them to grieve.

Eichel shrugs, clearly uncomfortable. "I don't actually like being alone. I just can't be around people who don't _get_ it for too long before I hit my breaking point."

"Almost everyone out there lost somebody. It's not exactly the same, but they get it." Nate takes a deep breath, hoping what he has to say next won't backfire horribly. "You can't move forward if you don't let anyone help you."

"I don't fucking _want_ to move forward," Eichel says, but he sounds defeated, not angry. "Can I pick backwards instead?"

Nate tries a small smile. "Sure, just spin in a circle really fast. That works every time."

"I'm tired of living in a place that doesn't have Noah in it," Eichel says, and god, Nate knows that feeling. "This is all bullshit. They won't let me fight until I get over it, but the only way for me to even try that is to get back out there and feel like I'm making a difference."

"It's not bullshit," Nate counters. "The way you are right now, you'd literally drive any other pilot insane. Some people don't come back from chasing the rabbit."

"No, listen to me," Eichel says, and he looks completely serious, completely in control of what he's saying. "That's the only place I can lock it all down. I know that's what they're all worried about, but it's not an issue for me. I can handle my shit better in a suit than I'd ever be able to outside of it."

Nate scrubs a hand over his face. "I can try talking to Gabe, but it's not you they're worried about. It's how other people who don't have your particular skillset will handle being inside your brain." Which, now that Nate thinks about it, they can't possibly know until they let Jack try. At the very least he could work out with someone and see if there's drift compatibility.

Eichel leans forward, like he can tell Nate is considering it. "Let me try," he says. "Let me into the gym. If nothing else, at least I can take some of my feelings out on practice dummies."

"That's not my call, but I'll see what I can do. And it wouldn't hurt if you stopped avoiding Gabe and Tyson like being around them will give you cooties," Nate adds.

"It's not the cooties I'm worried about," Eichel says, and Nate can almost see him drawing back into the hurt and anger. "It's the constant reminders."

"It fucking sucks," Nate agrees, "but Gabe is the one you need to convince that your memories aren't going to be a problem. Honestly, I have no idea how to pull that off. I'm never getting in a Jaeger again."

Eichel looks at him for a solid ten seconds before glancing away. "I'm glad you found another way to pitch in, man, but if they don't let me back in a Jaeger, I'm leaving. I'll find some other way."

Nate has no doubt about Eichel's resolve; none of them would've made it this far into the League without being stubborn. "I'll see what I can do," he says again. "If Gabe says no, that's a no, though." He hesitates. "But I might know where you could find some training dummies, if you can't get things going officially." And if they really need the nuclear option, maybe Nate can talk Tyson into breaking out the puppy dog eyes.

Eichel slumps back in his chair a little bit. "Thanks, man," he says, fiddling with the bracelet again. "I know I'm a lot to deal with. I probably would have kicked my own ass, like, two days ago, if I was you."

Nate snorts. "Lucky for you I don't have time to kick your ass. I have deliveries to coordinate and supplies to inventory."

"Lucky for me," Eichel agrees, and the smile he gives Nate is small and crooked, but it's real.

It's a small win, but Nate will take it. "Also, at least trying to play nice might help. If Tyson thinks you're actually talking to your friends..."

Eichel sighs, loud and exaggerated. "Fine. I'll go make nice with Marns and Stromer, and we'll all be best buddies."

"Stromer lost his brother, and his parents," Nate reminds him. "He might get what you're going through better than you think."

Eichel closes his eyes and nods. "And Marns probably did too, but I know better than to say that to them."

"Yeah," Nate agrees. "You were close enough to see what happened to Toronto."

"If he hasn't heard from them by now, he's not going to," Eichel says quietly. "There's not a whole fuck of a lot left."

"We all got dragged into a fucking mess, and it's going to be easier for some of us to make it out alive if we stick together," Nate replies.

"Yeah," Eichel says. "I'll talk to them, and I'll try not to piss off your teammates any more than I already have. I seriously do want to get back out there to help."

Nate can't help smiling a little. "Trust me, nobody here thinks you aren't serious."

"Good," Eichel says. "Now I just have to convince them it's worth it."

Nate bites his tongue, and doesn't tell Eichel that his life is worth it, too--that nobody wants to see him throw it away. He's not sure what Eichel's response would be, and there's every chance Nate wouldn't be able to handle hearing it.

There's only one way to find out, Nate figures as he stands up. It's time to go find Gabe.

-0-

Nate's squinting at his laptop, trying to figure out if he made some kind of colossal typo or if they actually have three tonnes of screws for the inside of the Jaeger cockpits, when Ference knocks on the door. "Hey, Nate. Got a minute?"

"You're rescuing me from spreadsheets. You can have all the minutes you want," Nate says, trying to hide his relieved sigh.

Ference laughs and walks in, dropping into a chair. "So I heard from a contact of mine who's been running a kind of guerrilla operation back in Edmonton. He wants to send a bunch of his guys here so we can try to integrate, pool our resources, that kind of thing. I wanted to check to see if we could handle an influx of twenty or so more people without putting too much strain on our resources."

Nate leans so far back he almost tips his chair over. "What kind of guerilla operation?"

Ference coughs. "You heard everything Bettman had to say about the Oilers' defection, right?"

"Actually, they made me turn it off, after I broke two TVs," Nate admits. "Remind me of the details."

"The Oilers broke off from the League when we did, but all of them immediately headed to the front lines," Ference says. "We started plotting, but they started fighting."

Nate grimaces. "That explains Bettman's reaction."

"Nothing explains his lack of a soul," Ference says darkly. "Anyway, Nuge says they need some repairs, a place to rest and recuperate for a little while, and I wanted to see if we'd be okay if they came here."

Nate blinks. "Wait, you're saying some of them made it _back_?"

"They lost one pilot," Ference says. "Almost _all_ of them made it back."

"What the fuck? _How_?" Everyone knows how bad things are out there. How on earth is it even possible they got this big of a break?

"There's a reason they've been at the bottom of the standings for so long," Ference says bluntly. "The game plan up there has always been to get the best people available and train them to fight kaiju, not to win a stupid fucking game. They know how to actually fight, but they're terrible at the rules and the moves of the game."

Jesus. Connor blew up his entire career just so they'd be ready, and so did a whole bunch of other people. Not even Sid had the guts to go that far. "Are they winning?" he asks. "Like actually winning?"

"Well, they're not dead yet," Ference says, breaking into a feral grin.

"They're winning," Nate says. He can feel how wide his eyes are. "How?"

"They can tell you all about it, if you have the space here," Ference points out.

"We'll make the space, holy shit," Nate says, turning back to his laptop. "I can juggle some people around. Are they bringing their Jaegers, or just themselves?"

"They're bringing at least four Jaegers," Ference says. "More if you can fit in a few that need repairs."

"We can do that," Nate says, nodding vigorously. "We've only got eight bays here, but we can move the Jaegers in storage out to bring theirs in for repairs." The Pepsi Center is right next to Mile High Stadium, and they're only a few blocks from Coors Field. Bettman was the only one stupid and arrogant enough to try to make his teams play through the end of the world, so the land is just sitting vacant; they can absolutely park Jaegers there.

"Want to break the news to Gabe for me, so he doesn't try to kiss me?" Ference jokes.

"You don't want up on all of that?" Nate asks as he clicks into his spreadsheet and starts making notes. "Because I promise you that Tyson wouldn't even be mad. He'd probably kiss you, too."

Ference shakes his head. "We're almost friends now; I'm not letting those two idiots rock the boat with too much tongue."

"You know what, that's fair," Nate says. He saves his file--god knows he only had to learn that lesson once--and stands. "When should we expect them?"

"They followed the kaiju attacks inland from the coast," Ference says, opening the door for Nate.

"So it'll take them a few days to get here, but they're not coming from Russia," Nate says, walking through it. "I'll give Gabe an estimate. Tell your guys to come, and let me know when you get a more accurate timeline."

Ference salutes him. "Aye aye, co-captain."

"I'm gonna get someone to sew an A onto a coat for me just so I can point to it and shake my head when you pull that," Nate says as he walks away to find Gabe.

"You're the captain of my heart!" Ference calls after him.

Nate rolls his eyes, but he's grinning as he makes his way to the workout area, where Gabe and Tyson usually are.

The two of them don't notice him; they're too busy frowning at a pile of bruised recruits. "Guys, it's not about hitting each other as hard as you can," Tyson says in the most world-weary voice Nate's ever heard him use. "C'mon. You know this shit."

Jost bounces to his feet. "I'm ready to go again."

Compher groans loudly from the floor. "Babe, let me live."

"Take five, everyone," Nate calls out. "I need to borrow your dads for a minute."

"You're my current favourite uncle," Kerfoot yells from somewhere in the pile of humanity of the floor. "Make it ten and I'll make that status permanent."

Gabe and Tyson turn in unison, and Nate can't help thinking they would've made a hell of an ice dancing pair in another life. He gets why they never wanted to drift together--that much emotion in one Jaeger is practically begging for rabbits--but damn, they're sickeningly in tune.

"Guys, you will not believe the day I just had," Nate starts. He can feel himself smiling; Gabe and Tyson both narrow their eyes suspiciously.

"Last time you said that, it was to badger me into letting Eichs back into the training program," Gabe says. "The training dummies will never be the same."

Nate shakes his head. "It's not nice to talk about the recruits like that."

"You're still smiling," Tyson says, ignoring Nate entirely. "Spill."

"How would you guys like half a dozen Jaegers with pilots to match?"

"Uh," Gabe says, eyes going wide. "Yes please? Where do we get them?"

Nate beams at him. "The Oilers are on their way. They need a place to regroup and do some repairs."

"The Oilers," Gabe echoes. "You're _still_ smiling. What's the rest of it?"

"They made it all the way back here, and they cleaned up the coast." Nate pauses to enjoy the moment before adding, "All that and they only lost one pilot."

"How the fuck," Tyson says, astonished.

Nate smiles as widely as he can. "We can ask them in a few days. They're on their way."

Gabe takes two strides forward, grips Nate's face in his giant hands, and kisses him. Ference was totally right.

-0-

Nate doesn't know if waiting or ripping the band-aid off would be kinder, but he really doesn't have the luxury of time. He finds Mitch later that afternoon and quietly asks him if they can put some of the Oilers up in the two spare rooms in the apartment he and Dylan are sharing with Matt. "Just until your family gets here," he adds.

The expression that passes over Mitch's face is painful to look at. "Yeah, right," Mitch says flatly. "If they're not here by now, they're not coming."

"I'm sorry," Nate says gently. "I'm really, really sorry, Mitch."

Mitch sticks his chin out, stubbornly refusing to break. "My brother's a first responder, so I knew--" His voice cracks, and he turns away from Nate.

Nate clenches his hands into fists. "I'm sorry," he says again, because even though he's been there, it doesn't mean he knows what to say. "You don't have to answer me right now. Give it a day, and then let me know."

"Thanks," Mitch says without looking back at him.

Nate nods and turns to leave him to his grief. He's still looking for places for about half of the Oilers, so he definitely has more calls he needs to make. Who would've thought that finding space for a bunch of giant Jaegers would be the easy part?

Dylan gets in touch with Nate the next morning to say that they'll put some of the guys up; by the middle of the day, EJ comes through with a buddy of his half an hour north of the city who has a horse ranch with a few heated outbuildings they can use. The Oilers will be a little scattered, but they'll have places to stay. People are abandoning the east coast in droves, but most of them haven't gotten much further than Nashville; Denver is still isolated enough that they haven't been overrun.

Nate is desperately hoping that the kaiju don't get to Nashville. He's not sure what they'll do if that happens. It would be a total nightmare, but he doesn't have time to think about _all_ the possible worst case scenarios.

By the time Ference knocks on Nate's door a few days after their initial conversation, Nate almost feels ready to integrate twenty new people into their little operation. Almost.

"Hey, come in," Nate says, waving at him with a half-empty coffee cup that somehow miraculously doesn't spill.

Ference drops into a chair. "I just heard from Nuge," he says. "They're about two hours out. I told him where to park the Jaegers and let him know that there will be people there to meet them."

"Can't just leave 'em standing on the fifty yard line," Nate jokes. "Connor would show up just to be disappointed in me."

"He would," Ference says, smiling briefly. "I heard from him yesterday. He says things are going well, but I'm hoping we can figure out a way to get him back here sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, I can't say I'd mind having some extra help around here," Nate replies.

Ference is quiet for a moment. "I don't think it's going as well as Connor says it is," he finally says. "I don't think it's bad, necessarily, but it's... tough. He's doing a lot more than running through and recruiting kids. He's been helping with cleanup, with burials, with relocation..."

"So just the absolute worst parts," Nate says. He never thought he'd be so damn grateful to be this far from the front line; he'd always planned on being right there in the fight. But Jo... that changed everything.

"I'm not shocked," Ference says. "I'm wishing things were easier for him, but I feel like I'm doing that for a whole lot of people these days."

"For pretty much everyone," Nate agrees. Except for Bettman, and everyone who had a hand in deciding the season should go ahead as planned.

Ference nods. "Is there anything we need to do before the guys get here?"

"We've got places lined up for them to stay," Nate says, "but I didn't want to, like, assign who goes where like it's summer camp."

"If you can give me an idea of how many spots you have in each place, I can make some suggestions," Ference says. "Nuge can improve on it when he gets here, but the more we can do now, the less confusion there will be later, I think."

Nate turns his screen so Ference can see the latest spreadsheet. It takes a moment, but Ference nods. "I'll write a few things out," he promises, then hesitates. "You've got a better handle on it than I do. Would it be better to put younger guys or older guys with Marner and Strome?"

"Older, I think. They already have Stromer's little brother to worry about," Nate says. And older guys will be more likely to tread carefully around Mitch in his grief.

Ference nods. "I'll take the rookies," he says. "Sekera and Russell can take one of the rooms at Strome and Marner's, and we can put Koskinen and Talbot in the other. That should keep things calm."

"God knows we could use a little calm around here," Nate mutters, not really meaning for Ference to hear him.

Ference snorts anyway. "Yeah, that's in short supply, and adding this many people is probably gonna be a little stressful."

"At least they're allowed to punch each other sometimes," Nate points out. "Y'know, for training purposes."

"I'm sure they'll take full advantage of that," Ference says dryly. He glances at his watch. "I wanted to stop in with Bea and talk about food supplies before all the extra chaos arrived. Do you want to tag along, or do you have more spreadsheets to do?"

Nate raises an eyebrow. "Do you want to see my colour coded tabs for allergies?"

"No, but I believe you have it all set up," Ference says, standing. "Let's go talk to a woman about some vegetables."

-0-

Nate sort of figured that adding the Oilers' entire remaining roster to their ranks would make things a hell of a lot more difficult, but it's surprisingly easy. It helps that the Oilers' drift teams are mostly intact, so they don't have to face letting new people into their heads. Nurse is the only exception, and nobody's pushing him to find a new partner yet. Apparently it had gone really, really badly when he and Caggiula went down, and honestly, Nate's trying to figure out the best way to ask if he wants to stay in Denver and help run something.

In hindsight it probably shouldn't have been surprising that when a problem pops up, it's not from the new arrivals; it's from close quarters.

Gabe and Mikko have kept up their training, and nobody has given Nate any shit for not being able to pilot anymore, but at the end of the day they have a three-pilot style. Just because the third person isn't in the cockpit doesn't mean they're not a pilot, and it doesn't mean they're not essential. Nate was relieved when they told him they were actively looking for a replacement. Now, though? He keeps hearing rumours about fights in the gym, but when he asks about it nobody will talk, probably because they don't want him to feel guilty. It's not that he doesn't appreciate it, because he does; he's trying to help run this whole operation, though, which means his feelings have to take a back seat, so he corners Gabe as he's leaving the training area one day.

"Are you going to talk to me like a grown up," Nate asks, "or do I have to bring your mom into this?"

"Nate!" Gabe says brightly, throwing his arm over Nate's shoulders and starting to walk away from the gym. "How's it going? How are things with the new guys?"

Nate scowls and gets his phone out of his pocket. "I'm not kidding, Gabriel. She's on my speed dial."

Someone in the gym behind them starts shouting, and there's the distinct sound of something being thrown against a wall.

Nate shrugs Gabe off and turns to open the door.

''--keep me here," Eichel is shouting as Nate walks in. "I thought training with you guys would help me get back in the field, but you won't let me do anything but run comms!"

Nate shuts the door in Gabe's face; adding his temper to the mix right now wouldn't help anyone. "Eichs," he says, taking a step forward. "What's going on, man?"

"Fuck off," Eichel spits, and then he does a double take. "Sorry, I thought you were--someone else."

"You thought I was Gabe," Nate says. It's not a guess. "Why would Gabe need to fuck off? What the hell is going on?"

"Absolutely fucking nothing is going on, that's the problem." Eichel kicks a sparring stick and it slides across the floor.

"Okay," Nate says slowly. He turns to Mikko. "What?"

Mikko shrugs. "He doesn't like it when you trip him."

"Oh, fuck you," Eichel snarls. "I'm doing my best to play by your rules, and all I'm getting is the runaround. When am I going to get back in the field?"

Nate clears his throat. "Right now we only have two options. Gabe and Mikko have an open spot in their Jaeger, and the Oilers are down a pilot." Possibly two, but Nurse is still on the fence. "That's it, Eichs. Two pilot spots."

Eichel is pretty much bristling with rage. "How about option three," he says. "How about I take my Jaeger and I head to the front lines and I go out with whoever they have for me to go out with?"

"Wait, they haven't let you back in your own machine?" Nate had figured Eichel's Jaeger was unsalvageable, after the wreckage left behind in Buffalo and Toronto, but if it's here and he's not being allowed into it, Nate maybe understands the rage tantrum a little better.

"I'm not _cleared_ to go near it," Eichel says. "I'm not _fit_ to touch my own Jaeger. I have to stay here and fight with _children_ until your captain says I'm good enough!" He kicks at one of the training dummies, and honestly, Nate can't blame him.

"Okay, no. Fuck that." Nate turns on his heel and leaves the gym, slamming the door on his way out. Gabe hasn't gone far, not that Nate figured he had. "You," he says, pointing at Gabe. "We need to talk."

"About the weather, or about what's for dinner?" Gabe jokes, plastering on his media smile. No wonder Eichel wants to punch him.

"About how you're keeping a trained pilot who wants to be participating in the fight from taking his own Jaeger and getting back out there," Nate says, crossing his arms over his chest. Fuck dancing around the issue.

"He doesn't have a co-pilot," Gabe starts, but Nate cuts him off.

"You won't even let him fucking try. I thought we had this discussion weeks ago."

The smile is nowhere to be found on Gabe's face now. "He's going to throw himself in the path of every dangerous thing out there because he doesn't fucking care if he lives or dies. I'm trying to keep him from getting himself killed."

"Right, and you know that for a fact because you fucking bothered to ask," Nate snaps back. "Getting back in a Jaeger is the only thing he was _living for_. Take that away and what do you think is going to happen?"

"I'll tell you what's going to happen," Nate hears, and when he turns, Eichel is walking towards them. "I'm getting in my suit and I'm getting the fuck out of here. Oh, and a word of advice?" He stops next to Nate, glaring hard at Gabe. "Stay the fuck out of my way."

"You can't pilot that thing on your own," Gabe points out.

Eichel's smile is nasty. "Save it for someone who hasn't had to do exactly that when their co-pilot suddenly came down with a bad case of kaiju claw to the head."

"Wait a minute," Nate practically begs. Then he turns to Gabe. "You, fuck off. I'll fix this."

Gabe snorts. "How?"

"Fuck off," Nate repeats, turning to Eichel. "Come with me. We'll get you off base."

-0-

Nate has always hated fighting with people he cares about, but after he and Ference get Jack and his Jaeger to the front lines, his number one priority becomes getting Gabe to see some reason. It doesn't go well. Gabe is used to being the man in charge; there's nothing he hates more than being told he's wrong.

The thing is that in most cases, Gabe's line of thinking would have been one hundred percent right. It hadn't worked this time, but if it had been one of the younger guys who hasn't seen combat, or one of the kids that Connor has started sending their way, Nate would have let Gabe do his thing without questioning him. But Gabe has his entire family safe and intact, and he has Tyson, and Gabe's drift partners are still here. He has no fucking clue what it's like to go through that kind of loss and still have to get up every day to fight back.

Maybe that's the problem; maybe Gabe can't even think about that without losing it. There are days Nate can barely think about it and keep it together, so it's not like he can blame Gabe. But it's costing them assets they desperately need.

They have to get Ference involved; it doesn't feel great to need to call an adult to settle a fight, but Nate doesn't want to fuck things up with Gabe any further, and he doesn't want to risk alienating someone else in Jack's shoes. Just because they don't have anyone here now in that particular situation doesn't mean they won't in the future. Ference is more diplomatic, in that he doesn't directly tell Gabe to fuck off, but he doesn't look happy that they lost Eichel.

It takes almost a week of tension so thick Nate feels like he could walk straight into it, but Ference finally lays out terms that Nate and Gabe can agree are fair enough: Gabe gets to make the call with the new recruits, but if someone has had a Jaeger before, they call their own shots. Neither of them is perfectly thrilled with it, but Nate figures that's what makes it a good compromise.

It stops being theoretical pretty quickly when Toews calls in to ask if he can send some teams for repair and rehab. "We've got some injuries," he says, voice clipped over the speakerphone. "And some casualties to report, although I don't think anyone's going to give a shit that I can confirm Bettman's dead. Asshole came out to try to stop us and wandered right into an attack."

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," Ference mutters. "Anyone else?"

"Yeah," Toews says, and his voice is heavier now. "If you can spare people, we could use backup out here."

Nate isn't sure why he's listening to this; he does his best to avoid knowing exactly what's going on in the actual fighting part of this whole operation, because he's afraid he'll Jo-spiral if he hears too many details.

"Some of my guys are ready to ship out," Ference says. "I can send reinforcements and make room here for your guys, if that works for Nate."

Nate clenches his jaw and doesn't think about what faces he's gotten used to seeing are about to leave, some of them probably for good. "Sure," he says. "What kind of injuries are we talking about?"

"At least one guy was trying to hide a concussion," Toews says flatly. "We've had some kaiju blue exposure, too, so we need to screen for that."

"And the machines coming for repairs?" Ference asks, tapping at his iPad. "What kind of damage are we looking at?"

Nate zones out while they talk specifics. He doesn't need the nightmare of picturing exactly what caused the damage. They go on for a while as Nate thinks about who they have on base to do repairs; Nurse is pretty handy with figuring out the mechanics, to the point where a bunch of the guys around base have started calling him The Doctor. He can get anything working again, it seems, and Nate's glad that he managed to find something that lets him stay out of the field and not feel bad about it. Finding replacement pilots for Nurse's Jaeger has been a lot smoother than finding him a new drift partner would've been; they learned that much from the shitshow with Eichel. The fact that Nurse seems perfectly happy to never pilot again doesn't hurt anything, either. Nate makes a mental note to check in with him anyway, and make sure he knows he isn't the only ex-pilot.

He tunes back into the conversation pretty abruptly when Ference sighs loudly. "So no total losses this time, but you're down two Jaeger teams and three machines," he says, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "We'll send what we can, Jonny. Only the Oilers have the experience that your guys do, and they're not quite ready to go yet, but we can get you some backup and hopefully send them out soon."

"I'll make sure we have room for everyone," Nate adds. "And let us know if any of your people have special requirements."

Toews is quiet for a moment. "Maybe someone to talk to, if you have anybody like that," he finally says. "It's been... it's been bad. Worse for some than for others, but everyone's carrying around a lot of shit."

And there it is, the reason why they brought Nate in. Apparently he's the default Sad Guy. "My door is open," he says. "It's labelled now and everything. Tell your guys to come find me if they need, and that if talking to me isn't enough, I'll help them find an actual therapist in the area." He doesn't get up and leave, which is progress, but it would've been nice not to be ambushed.

"Thanks," Toews says. It's usually hard to get a read on anything the guy is feeling from his voice, but Nate can tell over the shitty connection that he's tired and tense. "I'll send my guys your way in a couple of hours, but it'll probably take them a week to get there, as banged up as they are."

"We'll be ready," Nate promises, and when they end the call he leaves without another word. He needs to cool off before he talks to anyone, Ference included, so he heads to his office and closes the door. The irony doesn't escape him, he thinks as he pulls it shut; he'd just said that it was open, but right now he needs a minute.

It's not too long before someone knocks on his door, and Nate groans. He's one of the leaders of this whole thing, though, so he takes a deep breath and steels himself. "Come in," he calls.

The door swings open and Nate's jaw drops as Alex Ovechkin beams at him. "Hi," he says. "I hear you need pilots?"

-0-

The shock of Ovi arriving reverberates through the base; everyone is talking about him and what his arrival means. It's a lot to take in, and Nate's not surprised when Taylor shows up in his office a few days after Ovi does. She looks like she hasn't slept in way too long, and Nate doesn't hesitate to offer her some of his precious coffee.

Taylor just sits there sipping it for a while, and breathing in that careful way people do when they're trying not to break down. "I know it was stupid to start hoping for a miracle," she finally says, staring into her coffee, "but I thought that maybe Ovi would have some different news about Sid."

Nate sighs. "I was hoping for the same thing. It's not stupid to still care about people even after they're gone."

"It sucks, though," Taylor says. "I can't even tell you if it was better or worse to have it confirmed firsthand. At least he was nice about it when I asked."

"Good, because I haven't trained in a while and if I tried to fight him it'd be ugly," Nate says seriously.

Taylor finally looks up at that, flashing him a tired, brittle smile. "I'm glad I still have you," she says.

There isn't much else they need to say after that, so Nate just sits with her while they let the grief sink in. It seems like it should maybe hurt less this time, but Nate's not that lucky. He manages not to cry directly into his coffee, but it's a close thing.

"At least we can get our training program in better shape," Nate says when he's got more of a hold of himself. "He's got a ton of field experience. Between him and Nuge, we can get rid of whatever we're doing that's not useful and make sure we give people stuff they actually need."

Taylor smiles tightly. "Gabe isn't going to like that."

"He's learning to deal, believe it or not," Nate says, shaking his head. It's not the easiest thing in the world, but Gabe is stubborn, not stupid. "He wants this to work just as much as the rest of us do."

"Good, because if he gives Manon trouble when she gets here, she'll dropkick him into next week," Taylor jokes.

Nate snorts. "Should we suggest they spar when she arrives?"

It makes Taylor grin. "I know a lot of people who'd pay to see that."

"We could take video and send it to Eichs as a peace offering," Nate suggests. "Since I'm completely sure she'd wipe the floor with him."

Taylor gets a thoughtful look on her face. "An exhibition spar might be good for morale."

"Both of them can show off their best moves," Nate says, leaning in. "So people know what they can learn if they stick with it."

"Good for the rookies, and fun for us," Taylor adds.

Nate grins. "I'm sold."

"Speaking of good, and also awkward transitions," Taylor says, shaking her head. "Most of the kids Davo has sent are settling in well, and Backstrom is talking to most of them. He's got a second career as a therapist."

"Thank fuck for that," Nate blurts out. Not that he minds talking to people, it's just a lot to deal with on top of everything else.

"You're not kidding," Taylor says, relief evident in her voice. "I was worried they'd look at me and see, like, an older sister they could talk to. Not that I don't want to talk to them at all, but..."

"I feel like if I tell too many of them it's okay not to want to fight Gabe'll murder me," Nate says.

"Fuck that," Taylor says, expression darkening. "If he's pressuring kids to fight, I'll beat his ass myself."

Nate shakes his head. "He's not, I just--I'm not exactly the poster child for big brave Jaeger pilot anymore."

Taylor's face softens. "What you're doing is no less important," she says, quiet but firm. "You're kind of like a role model now, y'know? We tell these kids that they don't have to fight, and then they see that you're helping run things instead of getting in a suit, and they actually believe it."

The logical part of Nate's brain knows that what she's saying is true; more than half of the new recruits trickling in have found work in mechanics, or the kitchens, or helping with stocktake. But sometimes he can't help thinking about how determined Eichs was to get back out there. Something inside Nate broke when he lost Jo, and sometimes he's more painfully aware of it than others. He's not the only one and he knows it, but it's still a lot to deal with a lot of the time.

Speaking of others, though. "Dylan's helping with the whole intake process for the kids," Nate says. "He's got his brother with him, which I think is helping, since some of the O kids knew him." He hesitates. "Mitch isn't... he just stays home most of the time, I think."

Taylor grimaces in sympathy. "It was bad enough for me just losing Sid. If everyone else was gone too..."

"He's just got Dylan and Connor now," Nate says. "And Connor isn't here, and we don't know when he will be. I'm gonna give him as much space as he needs, but maybe I should let him know that Backstrom's there if he wants to talk or yell or, I don't know, throw shit."

"Throwing shit definitely sounds good to me," Taylor says. "Plus if we go to the gym we'll get to see the look on Tyson's face when we suggest the exhibition."

"Oh, hell yes," Nate says. Smiling feels a little foreign right now, but he does his best anyway. "He's gonna be so excited."

Taylor snorts. "He's going to bet the farm on Gabe somehow winning."

"Yes," Nate says, standing up. "He'll bet against us. Want to go make some money?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Taylor holds out her arm for Nate to take, because apparently he's a princess. There are worse things he could be, he decides as he takes it and they head out of the office.

-0-

It's very clear that Gabe does respect Manon Rheaume's talent and drive and ability, but it's just as clear that he's pretty sure he's going to be the undisputed winner of their spar. Gabe's sister shows up to watch, and she brings enough popcorn to feed a small army. It's a good thing, because Nate feels like a small army's worth of people cram themselves into the practice area, between the League guys, the women's league players on base, and the kids Connor's been sending.

Nate takes a seat next to Bea, and she grins at him. "I bet you five bucks she makes him bleed."

"Absolutely," Nate says instantly, grinning back. "If you want to bet against Manon, I think Tyson's still interested in losing money."

Bea snorts and shakes her head. "I guess that's the price of true love."

"Seems like it," Nate agrees. "I've got money on her knocking him down first, him tripping over his own feet, and him somehow managing to rip his own shirt."

"I'm going for him getting cocky, and then losing his temper when she lands a hit," Bea replies.

Nate grins. "This is gonna be fun."

Tyson looks their way, eyes lingering sadly on the popcorn, but he goes to sit at the other end of the gym with the rookies. Nate makes sure to crunch his popcorn extra loudly, and the glare he gets in return is totally worth it.

Gabe waves and smiles at the crowd like it's his birthday and every single person here just wants to celebrate how awesome he is. Manon is leaning on her stick, surveying the room with a slight smile on her face. Her eyes keep flicking back to Gabe, and Nate was already sure she was going to be totally dominant, but now he's even more positive. He grins when Gabe high-fives one of the rookies and nudges Bea. "What's that saying about pride and falls?"

Bea snorts. "He has never in his life let himself think he'd fail at anything he tries. Half the fun of being around him is his reaction to reality."

Manon claps her hands together, and it's like they're in school: everyone turns to look at her. Gabe says something to her, and she just raises an eyebrow before signaling that she's ready to start. Everyone goes quiet as they square up in the centre of the sparring ring. Gabe is half a foot taller, and it looks like it should be anything but fair. 

Manon raises her staff and takes a defensive stance; Gabe rolls his shoulders like a kid on Christmas trying to decide which present to pounce on first. He stands there for a few seconds before feinting left and striking out. Manon blocks him easily, then sweeps her foot out to take advantage of him being off balance.

Gabe actually bounces a little as his ass hits the floor, and the room breaks into cheers. He whips his head around to glare at the crowd, and Bea waves at him.

Gabe gets back up and steps back, evaluating. He's got a look of pure concentration on his face now, and his second attempt is a lot less carefree. He takes a couple of weak swipes and then steps back, trying to draw her out. Manon doesn't bite, and they circle each other for a bit.

Gabe breaks first, because inside that giant head is the mind of a puppy. It's part of why he and Tyson work so well together. He lunges forward, and his size comes into play immediately; he forces Manon backwards, attacking without letting up, and Nate holds his breath. Manon takes her time, meeting each strike and getting the measure of him. Then, when Gabe raises his staff for a big hit, she turns hers lightning fast and butt-ends him in the solar plexus.

Gabe stumbles back; Manon finally goes on the offensive, and it's a hell of a thing to see. She keeps him off balance, always changing direction just when it looks like Gabe is about to get his feet under him. Gabe starts pulling out the fancy shit, the stuff that got him made captain back when this was all a game.

Manon grins at him. Nate's pretty sure she'd just throw her head back and laugh if she could do it without taking her eyes off Gabe.

Nate has the distinct feeling that Manon is playing with her food; it's awesome to watch as she ducks and darts around, getting Gabe to turn so quickly that he trips over himself and goes down again. "Five bucks for me," Nate says quietly to Bea.

She smacks him in the arm. "Just wait."

Gabe gets up and tries to just rush at Manon like a wounded bull. She brings her staff up hard and quick, and Gabe hits it full force and spins, going down again. This time he stays down, and waves his hand in surrender. The room erupts into cheers and applause, and Manon smiles and bows.

Tyson gets up and goes over to Gabe, who's still staring at the ceiling. "You doing okay, bud?"

Gabe grabs Tyson's hand, pulling him down to the floor.

"You're fine," Tyson decides, then whacks Gabe on the shoulder. "You just lost me like two hundred bucks!"

Gabe grins and loudly proclaims, "I'll make it up to you."

Bea makes a truly offended noise and starts yelling something in Swedish, and whatever it is, Gabe starts cracking up and puts an arm around Tyson's shoulders, tugging him in. Bea throws an entire bowl of popcorn at them.

Nate looks from Bea to where Gabe is whispering something to Tyson, whose face is going beet red at an alarming rate, then back to Bea. "Nope," he decides. "Don't tell me."

"Yeah, okay, time for an important meeting," Tyson says, scrambling to his feet.

"Gross," Compher says flatly. It's not like he has any room to talk with how many times Nate has caught him and Josty in a less than clothed position, but Nate agrees with him anyway.

Tyson glares at them. "You're not invited anyway."

"It's fine, we've got a place of our own to go to," Josty says, voice smug. "And we live closer to base than you do."

Nate puts a hand over his eyes. "It's not a competition. And there definitely aren't any prizes for finishing first."

Bea makes another noise, and Nate braces himself for a whack to the shoulder. Instead, though, there's a few seconds of silence, and then she bursts out laughing. She says something else in Swedish that has Gabe spluttering, and then she stands and smiles down at Nate. "I think we should wait until later to collect our winnings from Tyson," she says. "I have celebratory butter cookies in the kitchen, though, so we can start with those."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Nate says, smiling as he stands up to follow her.

-0-

Toews' guys arrive with their Jaegers a few days after the exhibition spar, and Nate keeps his cool through sheer force of will. Toews had downplayed how fucked up the Jaegers were, and the pilots inside are pretty beat to hell, too. He manages not to have a panic attack and throw up this time, though, so he'll take that as a win.

DeBrincat scowls when Ference tells him he can't go back into the field until his concussion heals all the way, but he brightens when Dylan and Mitch show up to offer a spare room at their place. Dylan drags him into a three way hug that conveniently allows Mitch to hide his face.

They deserve a little bit of privacy, Nate thinks, so he turns back to the rest of the guys Toews had sent back. Paul Stastny has an air cast on one arm; the Tkachuks look bleary-eyed and a little skittish, and Nate remembers something about them being part of a triad that lost someone. Phil Kessel looks completely fine; the grumpy expression on his face is just his face, as far as Nate knows. All of them were damn lucky to escape the effects of kaiju blue. They must've been evaced pretty damn quickly.

He can get a full report from Ference later, if that's a thing he feels like he can do without losing it. For now, he escapes to go find Taylor; they've been talking through ways to get some of the women's players set up with the supplies they'll need for their Jaeger research. Ovi bounds into the room just as Nate's leaving, grinning broadly and filling the room with energy. Ovi is a cross between a one-man wrecking ball and an over-excited welcoming committee; Nate figures they'll all be fine and leaves them to it.

Taylor is incredibly excited about finally having her people in place. It took a while for the women's players to gather their resources and make the move to Colorado, because they've been underfunded for years, but Nate's glad to have them. Every single one of them is incredible at what they do, whether it's piloting or repairs or research and development. Nate's got a lot of hope for what they can accomplish, and it'll be good to get Taylor's read on how everything is going.

They have a good, productive meeting; it takes up two hours of Nate's day, but honestly, it's two hours well-spent. He's in a pretty good mood when Taylor leaves for lunch and someone knocks on his door a few minutes later.

"Hello!" Ovi says loudly as he comes in. He does almost everything loudly, and it's taken some getting used to.

"Hey, Ovi," Nate says, leaning back in his chair. "How's it going? How are the new guys?"

"Beat up, but still good. Kessel not happy they sent him here," Ovi adds.

Nate frowns. "Why'd they send him? I figured it was a head injury, since he looked fine."

"Check-up," Ovi says, shrugging. "Toews' people aren't set up to keep track of kaiju blue survivors."

Kessel had cancer, Nate remembers suddenly. Something about overexposure to kaiju blue and his Jaeger, and he'd come back to slightly better safety standards with a perma-scowl on his face. "We can check him out here?"

Ovi nods. "That's the plan, yes. And get him a new drift partner."

"Yeah," Nate says, frowning a little. "I guess Gabe should be part of that. He's been decent at figuring out who can drift with who." Except for figuring out a new third for himself and Mikko, but that bundle of drama isn't Nate's problem anymore. He's not gonna be the one to push them back out into the field; it feels incredibly selfish to hope that they stay in Denver, away from the fight and away from the danger, but Nate figures he's earned the right to be selfish about his people.

"Nicky doesn't want to go back out," Ovi says, "so maybe Gabe can help me too."

Nate gives him a grin. "Maybe you and Kessel can pair up," he suggests. "Two guys with no co-pilots. Maybe we'll get lucky and you can drift together."

"Then we have an extra Jaeger," Ovi points out. "Maybe for the rookies?"

"It's four pilots either way," Nate reasons. "And we've got some kids coming up through the training program as pilot pairs already. We might as well have a machine for them, as long as the two of you can figure out which of your Jaegers you'd want to be in." His stomach turns at the idea of sending Compher or Jost out there, but they volunteered. And it's Gabe's call, not Nate's. He's not even thinking about the kids Connor's sending; they've all agreed that they don't get to go out in the field until they're 18, no matter what, and they're at least a few months from that happening. Nate will deal with his feelings when they get there.

Ovi shrugs. "We can spar," he says. "No promises. Drifting is weird."

Nate snorts. "Yeah, tell me about it. Especially if they speak a different language; getting used to the way they think is a mind trip."

"It is?" Ovi asks, frowning a little. "I never have that problem with Nicky."

Huh. Well that's interesting. "Maybe it was different for me, because Gabe's Swedish and Mikko is Finnish."

"Maybe," Ovi agrees. "More languages, more confusing."

"Yeah, maybe," Nate concedes. But he makes a mental note to stop by the gym when Ovi's sparring, even though he usually stays as far from training as he can.

"Tomorrow, maybe," Ovi says. "I talk to Phil and Landy, get it all set up. I want to get back out there soon."

"Yeah," Nate agrees. God knows they could use someone of Ovi's calibre back out there, no matter who he ends up with as a drift partner. "Let's make it happen."

-0-

Gabe's eager to see if Ovi and Kessel could actually end up being viable drift partners, so it doesn't take long for him to set up a spar. It's probably a long shot, to say the least; Kessel hasn't had much luck drifting with anyone since Bozak went down with injury, and Ovi's been drifting with Backstrom for so long that Nate doesn't know how his brain will adapt to anyone else. There's no harm in trying, though, and they're running out of other options.

Nate's here to observe and take notes so he can get a better idea of where to use Kessel off the field if this doesn't work, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to seeing what these two guys can do. They're both excellent fighters, so if nothing else, it should be entertaining as hell. Gabe looks like a kid in a candy store, bouncing on his toes while he waits for them to get started.

Nate finds Tyson and sits down. "So what are we betting on?"

"I learned my lesson," Tyson replies. "No bets; I'm just going to enjoy the chaos."

"You've never learned a single lesson in your entire life," Nate says, raising both eyebrows. "Why start now?"

Tyson rolls his eyes. "Shh, the grownups are about to start talking."

"Kessel!" Ovi booms, spreading his arms. "We gonna kick each other's ass, yeah?"

"That's the plan," Kessel replies, ducking his head to hide a smile.

"The grownups," Nate deadpans. "I'm very impressed."

Ovi and Kessel step forward and tap their sticks together as a friendly prelude, but the resounding crack tells Nate neither of them is holding back. They stand there for a moment, sizing each other up, and then suddenly Kessel springs backwards just in time to avoid Ovi striking out.

Tyson sits forward in his chair and mutters, "Okay that was weird."

"It was," Nate agrees, not looking away from where Ovi's advancing towards Kessel.

Kessel makes a quick swipe and then keeps retreating, daring Ovi to come after him. They move cautiously for a few moments, testing each other out more than anything. Ovi looks as focused and determined as always, but it doesn't stop him from almost falling into an obvious trap. He spins away at the last moment, and he tilts his head as he regains his footing, looking at Kessel. Then he laughs and launches himself forward, and oh, this is what Nate thought the whole thing would be like.

Tyson shoots his hand out and clutches Nate's arm. "Are they...?"

"Yeah," Nate breathes out. "Holy shit. No touches at all so far, oh my god."

Ovi and Kessel continue their brutal dance, moving around the whole arena in almost-perfect sync. Their staves clash a lot, but neither one of them gets a touch in until Ovi fakes a stumble back, dodging and swinging back when Kessel bites. Ovi hits him in the shoulder, and Kessel growls at him before spinning into retaliation.

It's only another minute before Kessel gets Ovi, a quick hit on the thigh, and they don't even pause as Gabe calls it out. In all his years of watching highlights, Nate has never seen Ovi so happy to get hit. He laughs, somewhere between manic and thrilled beyond words, and then they get right back to it, a whirlwind of motion with neither of them giving ground.

They've probably seen more than enough to establish drift compatibility, but Gabe doesn't look like he's in any hurry to end this. There's no doubt in anyone's mind, Nate's sure of it, but there's something almost awe-inspiring about watching them just go at it.

It's incredibly rare for fighters from teams with an intense rivalry to be able to form a bond like this, especially so fast. Ovi's laughing as he moves, though, and Kessel's normally grim face is light in a way Nate hasn't seen since he got here. Nate's already wondering which Jaeger they're going to take. Somebody's going to be pissed about being bumped down the priority list, but there's no way they can afford to leave Ovi and Kessel waiting.

"Okay, time," Gabe finally calls, way past when he should have. "Do you need me to say it, or are we all clear here?"

Kessel does one last fake-lunge at Ovi. Ovi stumbles backwards for real this time, tripping and falling flat on his back. Nobody says or does anything this time, and then Ovi starts laughing. Kessel offers a hand to help him up, but he looks totally unsurprised when Ovi pulls him onto the floor and gets him in a headlock.

"Of all the people I could've gotten stuck with," Kessel says, but he sounds amused.

Ovi ruffles Kessel's thin hair, and Kessel pokes him in the ribs. They remind Nate so much of his rookies that he can't help snorting. Hopefully he never walks in on _them_ in any sort of compromising position; he's had quite enough of that with the actual rookies.

"Weird," Tyson mutters. "Like, can you imagine Gabe drifting with a fighter from Minnesota?"

Nate thinks about every time Gabe and EJ have sparred and snorts. "No," he says. "Hey, Tys, have you ever heard of someone drifting perfectly with two different people?"

"Not without a lot of practice," Tyson replies. "Most people drift with someone they meet early on, and that's really hard to replicate."

"Right," Nate says, nodding. "So what's up with Ovi, since he was perfect with Backstrom, too?"

Tyson's eyes widen. "Shit. He didn't even meet either of them until he was an adult."

"He's never sparred with Kessel before," Nate says, nodding where they're talking to Gabe, finally up off the floor. "I kind of feel like if I got out there, he'd spar that well with me, too." Nate has less than zero desire to spar with anyone ever again, but the point still stands.

"Or me," Tyson adds, catching on. "Holy shit. He can drift with anyone."

Nate feels a little sorry for Ovi; it must be weird having so many voices in your head. Kessel's going to have to deal with it, too, since they'll drift together. Hopefully it helps them form a stronger connection instead of being too distracting.

"Let's go say hi before Gabe goes 100% overexcited puppy," Nate suggests.

"Too late, I think," Tyson says, but he stands with Nate and they walk over together.

-0-

Nate's finishing up the paperwork for Kessel and Ovi to officially be sent out in Screaming Eagle when someone knocks on his office door. He shuffles everything into a vague pile and calls out, "Come on in."

"Hey," Taylor says, poking her head in. She looks really excited. "A bunch of the women's team is arriving today, and I wanted to introduce you to three of my favourite people."

Nate shakes his head sadly. "None of them are me? I'm hurt."

"You're, like," Taylor says, scrunching her face up. "Top five? Definitely top five. Best I can do, I think."

"I guess I'll take it." Nate gets up from his desk, and he tries not to feel guilty about the wave of relief he gets from running away from paperwork. Just because he's getting better at it doesn't mean he likes it any more than he did at first.

There are weird, high-pitched noises coming from the hallway, and as soon as Nate steps out, he gets why. Caroline Ouelette and Julie Chu are standing in the hallway, and Julie is holding a baby who's babbling at everything around them.

Nate can feel his whole face light up. "Hey there, keep it down. You'll scare the rookies."

Taylor laughs. "So you know of Caro and Julie, I'm sure," she says, gesturing to each of them. "Nate, meet baby Liv. She's very opinionated, so don't take it personally if she doesn't like you right away."

"Hi," Nate says, leaning closer and holding out his hand. "Very nice to meet you, young lady."

Liv sticks her entire fist into her mouth, considers Nate thoughtfully, and then takes her hand out of her mouth to smack his hand with it. It's super gross, but Nate's seen a lot worse in locker rooms and on team buses.

Caro snorts. "She likes you. Congratulations, and also, we have wet wipes."

Nate smiles, and he's proud of himself for how it doesn't tremble. Here he is, a month and a half after Jo died, and Quebecois accents don't immediately throw him into a tailspin anymore.

"Are you good with kids?" Julie asks, and when Nate nods, she leans in and Liv leans out, grabbing Nate's shirt with both hands. Nate takes her easily, and Liv grins up at him, sticking the other fist into her mouth.

"Good call," Nate tells her seriously. "Gotta have a brand, Liv."

She blinks up at him, making noise around her fist.

Nate grins. "That's exactly what I always say."

"Wow, you weren't kidding," Julie says, and when Nate looks up, she's grinning at Taylor. "We totally could ask him to babysit, huh?"

"I could probably find time in my busy schedule," Nate says, grinning back.

"Just know that he's probably going to dress your baby in Team Canada everything," Taylor replies.

"Babysitting privileges revoked," Julie says as Caro laughs.

"Maybe just Avs stuff, then," Nate says. "Baby Denver."

Caro hums. "That works," she says. "Resistance baby."

"It helps that your team used to be Canadian," Julie stage-whispers.

"And now it's American," Nate says, bouncing Liv a little. "Best of both worlds. Just like Liv."

Taylor rolls her eyes at him, but Nate doesn't care. He has important baby cuddling to do. "So," he says. "As nice as it is to meet all of you, I'm guessing there's a reason we're doing it near my office instead of over dinner tonight."

"We heard you were the one to talk to about logistics," Julie says.

Nate groans. "Unfortunately, you heard right."

Caro holds her hands out for Liv, but Liv digs her fingernails into Nate's throat. "Liv," she tries, but Liv just leans in and hides her face against Nate's shoulder.

Nate snorts. "Okay, I guess I have a co-pilot for now."

"She'll be happier if we don't take her by force," Julie says with a shrug. "And you don't really seem like you're itching to give her back right this second."

"Not exactly," Nate agrees. He does have to juggle the baby a little to get his office door open, though.

"Ohhhhhh," Liv says as they walk in. There's nothing super interesting in the office, but Nate figures she's probably at that age where every new thing seems interesting.

"I know, look at that _desk_." Nate turns Liv around so she can see better.

"Ahhh," Liv agrees, flinging her hand towards the calendar on the wall.

Nate moves her over towards it. "I know, my life is so glamorous and exciting it's hard to contain yourself."

"Yellow is her new favourite colour," Caro says as Liv smacks the calendar. It's a field of flowers, and it's definitely very yellow.

"I'll tear it out so she can have it at the end of the month," Nate promises.

Julie laughs. "Great, so Liv is totally done walking all over you."

"Probably not," Nate admits cheerfully as he sits behind his desk. Liv settles easily into his lap. "So, what kind of logistics do you need sorted out?"

Caro cuts a glance at Taylor. "We heard that your plans for training the rookies got, ah, cut short."

Nate winces, but Taylor doesn't even flinch at the mention of Sid's grand vision going down in flames. "Caro and Julie have both coached before," Taylor says. "Kids, mostly. They can help with the recruits Davo's sending us."

Kids. Jesus. Nate holds Liv a little closer. "Good, that's... we need a new plan, so thanks."

He mostly wants to throw up, or talk the kids out of fighting. Sid's plan was always to make sure nobody went out into the field without the absolute best training they could get, though, and Nate fully plans to honour that. "What do you need from me to get you started?"

"Willing participants and a room," Julie says. "And probably an intervention with Landeskog. I don't want to step on any toes."

Nate shakes his head. "Gabe's ego can take the hit."

"It sure can," Taylor says firmly. "Nate, I can work on finding a space if you can figure out who wants to start training. Does that work?"

"You always give me the easy jobs," Nate replies.

"That's the price of being in my top five favourite people," Taylor says solemnly. "I have faith in you."

Nate has no idea what to say to that, so he ducks his head and tries to hide behind Liv. She pulls her hand out of her mouth and gently pats his cheek, and Nate figures that's good enough.

-0-

Caro and Julie's rookie class has a huge turnout; Nate isn't really surprised, but they both readily agreed to keep Nate informed about everyone's progress and whether or not they're ready to move onto more intense training. Nate absolutely isn't going to send anyone out there until they're as ready as they can be. Given the number of kids they have, Connor must be doing a great job at recruiting, which is great but also really depressing. Nate can't help wondering how many of these kids have nowhere else to go.

On the bright side, not all of them are soon-to-be kaiju fodder; Connor had the foresight to send rookies for Nate, too. Kids who don't want to fight but are still desperate to do _something_. It's all coming together, and Nate just hopes it's something Sid would be proud of, if he was around to see it.

He's standing in the back of one of the rookie training sessions, watching as Caro walks a kid who can't be older than sixteen through an exercise in front of the whole group, when someone hums beside him. He turns and finds Manon watching, too.

"Uh, hi," Nate says awkwardly. What do you even say to a living legend when you're not watching her kick ass?

"Nathan," she says, and it's not like he didn't know that she probably knew who he was, but at the same time: holy shit. "What do you think? Is anyone in this group going to graduate to the next stage?"

Nate grimaces. "I try as hard as I can _not_ to think about that part."

Manon hums again. "It's painful, thinking about it," she says. "And you didn't sign up for this, I know."

"I signed up to fight," Nate replies. "Not to make kids fight in my place because I'm too..." He trails off, his voice failing as he remembers being the one who talked Jo into joining up.

"We all have scars," Manon says, finally turning to face him. She's got a sympathetic look on her face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to touch on a sore subject."

Nate shakes his head to try and bring himself back into the moment. "I think these kids are raw, but we all were at their age. I wouldn't write any of them off too soon; commitment counts for a lot, and they all sacrificed to be here."

"Well said," Manon says, smiling at him. "And the others? I heard something about a genius girl helping with research and development."

"Yeah," Nate says, relaxing a little. "One of the recruits brought his billet sister, and she's turning everything upside-down. Ference is really excited about some of her ideas."

Manon smirks. "If it's about poop recycling again, I'm happy that he's happy, but I don't need the details."

Nate laughs. "Unfortunately, I know all the details about the poop recycling," he says. "She's doing something with the Jaegers, though. She's got ideas for the propulsion systems that she thinks will let them maneuver better in the air."

Manon's eyes light up like a kid at Christmas. "Alright, _that_ I want to hear every detail about. When can I meet her?"

"I can introduce you at dinner tonight," Nate promises. "Her name is Riri. She'll have about a hundred thousand questions about your stint with Tampa and how you handled the pro suit versus how you handle the semi-pro suits in the women's league."

He's proud of himself for being able to talk about Tampa without losing his shit. If they hadn't screwed with Jo's development so much maybe he would've been better prepared and... nope, not following that train of thought down the rabbit hole of despair. It's a sign of him healing, he's pretty sure. He'll probably even be grateful for it later.

"Well, I'm happy to answer her questions," Manon says. "If I can help her understand something better, that will help everyone."

"Yay, teamwork." Nate manages a small smile.

Manon laughs quietly. "It makes the dream work, or so I'm told," she quips.

"I'd love to know whose fucked up dream this is," Nate mutters.

"Sidney Crosby's," Manon replies evenly. "This whole place is his dream. You're doing a good thing, keeping it going now."

Nate ducks his head. It's more than a little awkward, taking credit for anything that happened literally over his friend's dead body. "Someone has to," he says, because he's not sure what else he _can_ say. "Besides, if I'd left it all for Taylor to figure out on her own, Sid's ghost would murder me."

"He knew you would never do that," Manon says, turning back to the rookies. "He knew exactly how capable you are, and how good you are at finding help when you need it. Don't ever think he chose you as his second-in-command just because you were convenient, Nathan."

Nate already knew that, but it's good to hear. Especially when sometimes he can't help being terrified that he's fucking it all up, that people are going to die because he missed something. "Thanks," he says, looking up at where Julie is helping one of the kids correct her form. "I'm trying. We're all trying."

They watch the rookies for a while in companionable silence, and then Nate feels compelled to add, "I'm not giving the rookies the safe sex talk, though."

"Neither am I," Manon says instantly. "That's why you asked Ference for help, isn't it? He seems the fatherly type. He can do it."

Nate pictures the look on Ference's face and can't help cracking up. "Please let me be the one who gets to tell him."

"You can absolutely be the one to tell him," Manon says with a smile. "Let me know how it goes."

"If Ference thinks Tyson and Gabe act like horny teenagers, just wait," Nate jokes.

"They do, though," Manon says with a laugh. "It's good practice for him, probably."

Nate laughs, watching as Caro claps her hands to get everyone's attention. They're so young, he thinks, and it's nostalgia and grief all mixed into one as he thinks about him and Jo at that age, trying so desperately to be older that they hadn't taken the time to just be kids together. He thought they'd have time.

Sometimes, Nate knows now, time runs out before you expect it to.

-0-

Nate's in his office, trying to figure out if "close enough" is a good policy when it comes to balancing the budget, when his desk phone rings. He stares at it for a few seconds, because it almost never rings. People usually just come to his door, preferably with offerings of coffee.

"Hey," he answers, "this is--"

"Nate," Ference says, and Nate can't guess the tone of his voice at all, except that it's not his normal calm. "You need to get to the med area right now."

"What happened?" Nate asks, already getting to his feet. He tries to remember if there were supposed to be any training exercises this morning but he draws a blank.

"Just," Ference says. In the two months Nate has known him, Ference has never once been lost for words, and it's not making Nate feel good about whatever's going on now. "Get down here. It's not--it's not bad. I promise."

Nate isn't sure he believes that, but it's nice that Ference is making an effort. He hangs up and rushes out of the office, trying not to think about what could have happened that makes him need to rush to the med area but isn't bad.

It only takes him about two minutes to run all the way there, and he feels like he skids through the door "What's--"

"Nathan," he hears, and Nate absolutely freezes. He takes a step forward on autopilot and then freezes again. If this is a dream he'll probably wake up just before he gets to touch Jo, and he wants it to last as long as possible.

"Nate," Ference says, and Nate turns to look at him. "Breathe."

"I'm seeing things," Nate says, and his voice is hoarse.

"That's what I thought when he pulled me out of my Jaeger," someone else says. They're lying on a gurney behind a small crowd, so Nate can't see who it is.

"Nathan," Jo says again, and Nate turns back to face him. It's impossible, and Nate's gonna hurt so hard when he wakes up from this, but Jo's on a gurney, ankle taped up and IV in, dirty and too thin but smiling at him.

Nate takes a few shaky steps forward and reaches out to touch Jo's hair. "I don't know why you keep trying to bring mullets back in style."

"We figured getting here was more important than stopping for a haircut," Jo says, looking up at Nate. He reaches out and wraps a hand lightly around Nate's hip. "I'm sorry it took so long."

"You're never on time if you don't have me to drive you around," Nate says, because they knew how to tease each other before they knew how to talk in any other way.

"Nathan," Jo breathes, and then he leans forward and wraps his arms around Nate's waist, burying his face against Nate's stomach.

Nate sucks in a deep breath. He's never gotten this far into the dream before; it always breaks just as he's starting to get comfortable. He runs his hand through Jo's hair, grimacing as grit falls out onto the sheets.

"Yeah, sorry about that," the same voice from before says, and Nate looks up and locks eyes with... huh, weird, he thinks. He's never had Steven Stamkos in one of his dreams before. "It's been... kind of a hell of a trip."

"How did you even get here?" Nate asks, holding on tight to Jo.

"We walked," Jo mumbles against Nate's chest. "We thought--we disobeyed League orders, fighting the kaiju when they showed up. And then there was nobody looking for us, so we thought we'd be fugitives."

Nate pulls back a little, and stares down at Jo. "You walked from Florida to Colorado?"

"We hitchhiked some of it," Stamkos says.

"Dude." Nate shakes his head, trying to make sense of it all. "Didn't anyone tell you? Bettman's dead; the League is indefinitely suspended. Half the owners have run off to landlocked countries."

"I told them," Ference says from behind Nate. "About ten minutes ago."

"We were hiding," Jo says. "We thought if anyone knew about us, we'd be in trouble, and all I wanted..."

"Was to get here," Stamkos finishes. "This was the only goal we had."

"Well, you're here. Now what?" Nate isn't in the habit of telling dream-ghosts what to do.

"You're taking this whole thing a lot better than I thought you would," Ference says before Jo can respond. "Nate? Everything okay?"

Jo pulls back and frowns up at him, then reaches up and pinches hard at the meat of Nate's arm.

"Ow! What the fuck was that for?" Nate says, frowning. And then he starts crying.

Jo pulls him down to the gurney and wraps his arms around Nate, murmuring French that sounds like French, not the garbled syllables that his brain produces in dreams, because this is--this is real, Nate thinks, turning to sob into Jo's shoulder. This is _real_ and Jo is _here_, Jo's alive.

From somewhere above his head, Nate just barely registers Ference saying, "Okay, I'm gonna go get Tyson."

"Nathan," Jo says, still clinging tightly to him. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm sorry."

"You were gone," Nate chokes out. "You were at the bottom of the bay." He saw it in his nightmares dozens of times, Jo's face bloated with seawater.

Jo shudders against him. "My Jaeger got ripped apart," he says, voice haunted. "I got thrown. Landed in the sand. I saw Stammer go down in the shallows and ran over to pull him out, but everyone else..."

"I know," Nate cuts in. "I heard." He holds on tightly to Jo, trying his hardest not to let the flashbacks in.

"I'm sorry," Jo whispers. "I'm so sorry, Nathan."

"No, shut up, just let me..." Nate pulls back and very carefully lays down beside Jo. He makes sure not to bump the IV when he curls up around him. Jo nestles against his chest perfectly, and Nate can't stop crying.

"Okay, who needs my magic touch?" Tyson says loudly as he comes in. Nate doesn't say anything, doesn't move at all, which is why he can hear Tyson freeze. "Uh, is that.."

"Hey, Barrie," Stamkos says from the other gurney. "Come keep me company. I think MacKinnon's busy right now."

"I can see that," Tyson replies. "How's it going, Stammer?"

"Good, good, y'know," Stammer says, and Nate tunes everything else out, because Jo in front of him is more important than Tyson joking around behind him. Jo's here. The nightmare is over.

There's still work to be done: there are rookies to train; there are fights that he has to send people into; there's so, so much paperwork with Nate's name on it. Suddenly, though, it seems bearable. It seems like something he can do. He doesn't even mind the grit in Jo's hair all that much, because gross Jo is right here _in person_ being gross.

"You're here," Nate whispers, and saying it out loud makes it real, just as saying the opposite had made it sink in for him weeks and weeks ago. "Jo. You're _here_. You're in Denver."

"So are you," Jo whispers back, holding on tight.

"You're still gonna be here tomorrow," Nate says. "And the day after that."

"All the days," Jo promises.

All the days, Nate thinks. All the tomorrows, all the next months, all of the future, Jo's gonna be here. It still doesn't feel real, but Nate's willing to work on that. He's got a lifetime of days to get used to it, and for the first time in a long time, he can't wait for tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> **additional warnings:** at the start of the story, sid goes off to the european front to meet up with geno. their jaeger goes down, and they are indeed actually dead. jo's team is attacked when the habs play in tampa bay. everyone thinks he's dead, but he's okay and comes back at the end.
> 
> thanks for reading!


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